


What Makes a Father

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Hope, Psychological Horror, Recovery, Rescue, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ORIGINS AU - Dark & DISTURBING. If you are sensitive - DO NOT READ - this is NOT for you.</p><p>Ever wonder about that rat that runs across Yoshi's foot in the 2012 show? What if he took in the four frightened baby turtles? For my readers who I promised a story where Splinter is kind & the hero. Heh. </p><p>Be warned, this story is meant to be dark with intense, disturbing, and for some, very upsetting scenes. Enjoy the ride! </p><p>Adult Fanfiction Awards 2013 Nominations for Best Horror, Best Multichapter/AU, Best Supporting Character - Splinter , Best OC - Scrag</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read only if you want to go on a thrill ride of terror and don't mind reminding yourself from time to time, that it's only a story. Care to take a plunge into the darker side of my twisted mind?
> 
> Oh yeah, this is my love letter to Hamato Yoshi, for writing him so harsh and cruel in my other stories. Some readers even thought I wrote him evil. 
> 
> Well, sweeties, be prepared to find out my definition of cruel and evil . . . buckle up, pups.

 

 _"A father knows his child's heart, as only a child can know his father's."_  – Kazuo Koike,  _Lone Wolf and Cub, Vol. 1_

* * *

He crouched, hidden and frightened, in the confined shadows between the stacked metal boxes as the Men who were Not Men spoke in lengthy sentences about their destination and reasons for going. Over and over their grating voices scraped inside his head, adding another layer of pain to the never-ending pulse that drove him to the edge of madness. 

Wincing, he brought his claws up to cover tattered ears and pressed down hard. The sound was barely muffled by his action. All of his senses were much increased with the recent set of injections he'd endured just before he managed to memorize the code to unlock his cage. 

A whimper bubbled up, but he swallowed it back. He could not risk them discovering their stowaway. They would surely kill him, or worse, bring him back to the white room with the silver cages.

Clever and quick he was, his survival owed to that fact, and ever more so since the needles with the colored fluids, but the pain . . . the pain was a constant companion that he began to fear he may never escape. But he couldn't succumb to the sweet call of the empty blackness, with its promises of relief from the pain, which swirled in the back of his mind. Not yet. He still had a long way to go.

Finally freed from the metal cage that had been his home for four years, there was no way he'd allow himself to break now. Not with freedom flashing from beneath the crack of the van's double doors as the vehicle rolled along towards its destination. He watched it with his good eye, the eye that was clear and sharp and focused; unlike his other, nearly blind as a side effect of one of their burning injections.

The van came to an abrupt halt and he braced himself, muscles in his legs quivering, pink clawed toes scrambling for a grip along the rubber mat. 

 _Patience. Patience._  

One wrong move and all his efforts would be for nothing. If they captured him again, he would fight. He bared his fangs at the thought. They would have to squeeze the life from him before he allowed them to put him back into that cage, in the lab. He tensed.

Movement around him as his captors rose from their seats. Sunlight flooded the interior as the double doors swung open with a loud creak. The Not Men filed out and he had his chance!

Scrambling to the edge of the back of the van, he hesitated. Something was off. The air was suddenly crackling with anxiety and . . . he paused, listening with his body more than his ears. The strange double senses he'd acquired from their experiments tuned sharply to the end of the alley. White whiskers twitched.

He turned his head to see better with his healthy eye. Something wasn't going right for the Not Men. They'd been spotted. Their plan, whatever it was, interrupted.

A man, a human, stood at the mouth of the alley. In his arms, a glass bowl. His attention trained on the Not Men around the van. He pointed and shouted and Scrag flinched; black oily fur rippling as he snarled. He did not chose his name, but had been referred to as 'scraggly' many times, so he'd adopted it as his own. Better than no name, no identity.

The Not Men brought their glinting, humming weapons to their sides and opened fire on the man in the alley.  _Damn him!_ He had to go, now, while there was still a chance! Before he was noticed!

But as the black rat moved to leap down to the alley floor, the van rocked to one side as one of the Not Men slammed into it. The metal boxes tipped and tumbled. Scrag leapt and dodged as one burst open, the gleaming canisters rolling out and over him.

One clattered and struck his back sharply as he frantically scrambled out from the back of the van. Pain shot through him as he felt the weight of the canister smash down on top of him with the gravelly cement beneath him. For a terrifying moment, he could not move his rear legs. He lay flat as the man fought with the Not Men.

A glass bowl dropped down and exploded on the cement next to him, missing him by inches. Blinking and removing his claws from the sides of his scar-covered head, he saw four small turtles struggling in the ruins of their glass home; a different colored ribbon tied around each one's middle. Three were on their shells, their scratched legs pin wheeling pathetically. One stood still, swinging its small head from left to right.

Scrag felt their confusion and fear. Smelled the rich coppery blood and moist scent from their small bodies. His stomach lurched. He hadn't eaten in days.

Feeling the tingling sensation of pins in his rear legs he scampered and scrambled forward; wasting not a second as he regained control of his rear limbs; dodging the pink rays shooting from the Not Men's weapons as best as he could; half-dragging his left rear paw. The human man was there in front of him, shouting at the Not Men. The van bounced as the Not Men climbed inside. The human man stooped to gather his small reptilian pets, brushing them together with his hands, hissing in pain as the broken glass sliced his palms.

Without thinking, Scrag leapt onto the man's foot. His head and front claws reaching up under his pant leg where Scrag clawed and nipped at him in his panic and fury; drawing blood.

_It was his fault this went wrong! All his careful planning! He was nearly crushed and now his legs weren't working right! All because of this stupid man!_

He bit him once more, savoring the salty flood of his blood along his tongue and lips, relishing the man's hiss of pain, before he turned to flee. He didn't get far when one more of the canisters that had rolled after him crashed down from the van as the vehicle rocked into gear and lurched forward.

The canister came rolling and bouncing until finally, it struck against the man's leg. He shouted in shock and pain as the delicate glass shattered across his shin; spilling the glowing contents all over him and Scrag, spurting large droplets over the small reptiles still pathetically struggling to understand what was happening.

The man screamed above him and fell backwards onto his back. But while Scrag could feel the intensity of the man's burning pain, his own matched it in its perfect agony. They writhed and squirmed along the ground as muscles rippled and cramped; bones snapped and popped as their very DNA contorted and shifted. The man's screams dissolved into groans and whimpering moans.

Scrag's only advantage was that he'd been accustomed to torment and pain was something he'd built up a strong tolerance for. His sensitive ears and double senses picked up the vibration of the Not Men's van.

_No! Please, no!_

They were coming back to collect what they'd lost. He'd be caught for sure.

In a panic, Scrag pushed through the haze of pain. Even as his body violently trembled and quaked, he came up onto his hands and knees; only dimly realizing that his body was changing, radically. Panting, he cast about for some place to hide. He found the long shaft that was the opening of a storm sewer just to his right.

His stomach cramped painfully, making him grit his teeth. The hunger! The terrible hunger! His eye rolled to the four reptiles squirming; lost in their own pain. In a quick sweep of his hand, he swept them into the opening where he rolled and dove into as the twin lights of the Not Men's van brightened the alley.

Scrag twisted as he fell and landed roughly onto his stomach and chest with a grunt but quickly rolled to one side as the human came crashing down, nearly crushing him. He snarled at him, but stopped as a shocking realization struck him. The man - he was no longer human!

For one thing, he had shrunken down, no longer so much larger than Scrag. The clothes he'd been wearing lay long and huge over his bony, shaking frame. He was covered in light grey fur; two rounded ears poked out from the top of his head and a long pale tail lashed around as the thing that was once human still struggled within his private hell of suffering.

The human who resembled a rat more than a human now moaned and whimpered as he shuffled sideways into the shadows.

Scrag's nose twitched as he came to stand . . . on his two rear feet. He swayed and righted himself. The pain still lancing throughout his body; making him jerk and spasm. But he was too stunned to give it much thought. He looked down at his arms and legs, not rat-like any longer, but more human-like. Though still covered in his black oily fur, his claws were longer, the joints better positioned for grabbing and griping.

A powerful cramp doubled him over. The hunger came again. He was going to die if he didn't eat something!

His eyes darted around. It searched through the useless cans, crumpled paper and empty containers. A large plastic planter lay next to the rat-man whimpering in the corner. Scrag limped over and gripped it by the rim in his strong hands, enjoying the power of his newly developed fingers and thumb. He quickly spun as movement caught the corner of his eye.

He snatched up one of the turtles as it crawled away from him; catching it and picking it up by the tail as it cried out in pain. And fear?

Scrag blinked and held it up for inspection. Its legs kicked and short thick arms waved helplessly in the air. A red ribbon with a tag was tied around the turtle's ankle. It was whimpering as Scrag scrutinized it with his good eye while holding it upside down. It was bigger. Now the size of a soft ball. He snorted, more meat for him.

He shook it and it made the sound again, like a bark of pain and fear. Scrag's lips peeled back into a gruesome attempt at a smile. He threw it into the container.

Scrag held still and listened all the while his cunning brain spun. Thoughts that he struggled with before slid through his mind more simply without so much effort and concentration. These reptiles seemed to be changing as he and the human had. He shrugged. It made no difference to him.

He would eat them big or small human-like or turtle-like.

He then cast around for the others. His double senses picked up the feeling of intense fright. He turned. Huddled in the shadows were two more.

One that seemed much smaller than the one he'd just captured had its small dimpled hands over its face; covering its eyes. Scrag noted the two fingers and thumb and frowned. The other was crouching close by and had its arm around the smaller one's shell. Shielding it?

Scrag approached and dark blue eyes snapped up from the one crouching. He only hesitated a moment before reaching down and snagging it by the back of its neck. It gasped in fright as he did. He threw him into the planter then snatched the smaller one and did the same with him. This one cried out feebly and trembled as he gripped him by the back of his neck.

Scrag shook the planter roughly making the three little turtles bounce and bang into each other. They cried out but he only shook it harder. Finally, they got the idea and fell to quietly sniffling and gasping all piled on top of each other.

He spun as he caught the sound of movement. In a flash, his arm dashed out and he caught the last one by the ankle just as it turned to flee. This one had been standing on its rear legs; a purple ribbon bound its thin ankle. Scrag wrinkled his nose.

It was much thinner than the others. Scrag lifted it up by one arm and considered it. The runt of the group. Even the smallest one was round and plump. Succulent. This one, Scrag tilted his head and sneered.

It reached up and wrapped its fingers around Scrag's wrist as it whimpered. For a moment, Scrag thought perhaps he'd just drown it since there wasn't much meat on its limbs. Brown eyes, large, intelligent and pleading met his and he felt the fur on the back of his neck rise. With a grunt he threw it into the planter with the other three. Maybe he could fatten it up.

Hoisting the plastic container higher up on his hip, Scrag limped past the human who was no longer a human. He paused and stared at the rat-man shivering and making strange, helpless noises in the shadows. Disdain and disgust filled him. He sneered at the pathetic creature before him.

This was no survivor. This was merely an intruder. An interfering, pitiful thing too weak to be allowed to live.

There were bricks and garbage all around them. Scrag reached down to pick up a thick red brick. He stared at it, then at the man who was no longer a man. Men, Not Men, how he hated all of them.

A dark idea took root. The brick weighed heavily in his grasp. The imagined vision of bashing in the man's head filled him. A feeling of excitement and anticipation swept through him. It was good. He wanted to see him squirm as the brick came down again and again. A shiver of pleasure went through him. And there'd be less competition for food down here.

He set the planter down and moved in on the whimpering creature; licking his lips as his fur bristled while a delicious thrill went through him. A crooked grin spread across his face, fangs gleamed in the dim light.

He raised up the brick and paused. A scent of something caught his nose.

Food.

His stomach seized and he dropped the brick. He turned. Tattered ears pricked, whiskers twitched. His milky ruined eye watered and blinked. Yes, the sound of men . . . workers down in the tunnels. And . . . food. Glorious food. The changes his body had gone through had completely drained him of energy and the need for food was more than painful. He smelled it and sensed it. And its pull was magnetic.

Oh yes. Sandwiches full of meat and . . . he sniffed . . . fruit, chips and . . . cookies. Sweet things. His mouth filled with saliva. Meat and sweet. He had to get it. Lunches packed and waiting for him.

He'd be quick and clever. He always was.

As he turned away, he glanced down at the trembling rat-creature. His lip curled as a wave of disappointment went through him. He sighed. Another day. He'd get to play later. For now, his hunger was too great.

He stopped and picked up the plastic bin; rested it on his stronger hip. He considered dumping them all into the rushing water flowing through the center of the storm sewer and letting them drown. Four pairs of eyes; dark blue, brown, amber and bright blue; huge and glassy with fright, gazed up at him from small, rounded, green faces.

He grimaced down at their trembling, huddled forms. He moved to tip the bucket into the water. But something stopped him.

 _No_ , he thought.  _Not yet._

He'd keep them and see what use they'd be to him. Perhaps he could train them. They could be his servants. And if not, he could save them for food for later. Another thought slipped through his throbbing head making the pain pause.

_Yes. That would be good._

He gazed down at them with a hunger that had nothing to do with his stomach. They'd make nice toys for him when bored. The thought sent a wave of unexpected glee laced with arousal through him. He shivered.

In the darkness, Scrag turned. He limped and slithered towards the inviting scent of food. Behind him, the man huddled in the shadows hugged himself tightly with furry arms and clawed hands.

 _"This . . . isn't real. This . . . isn't real,"_  Hamato Yoshi whispered over and over in the darkness.

In the plastic planter on Scrag's hip, four small brothers - the oldest being no more than four, the youngest only a baby, really - quailed and cowered and held on to each other as tightly as they could.

* * *

 


	2. Identities

 

With a pointed claw, sharp and gleaming, he snagged one edge of a stuffed paper bag; sliding it along the ground towards him. With a quick grab of his hands, he snatched another. Scrag stole the lunches piled neatly in the corner of the tunnel only feet away from a group of men mumbling and working on a broken pipe.

One was climbing up the ladder next to them. All of their backs were to him. The dirty sunlight filtered down from the open manhole above and cast them in strange yellow shadows.

Someone shouted from above and Scrag flinched, frozen where he crouched. The smell of the lunches rose up and filled his quivering wet nostrils; inviting and teasing. One of his whiskers twitched as his good eye darted about. His stomach rolled in on itself with the aching hunger. But he had to be careful. He had to be quick. With a flick of his tail he spun fluidly and clutching the bags to his chest, darted back into the tunnel; into the black shadows.

Scrag hastily dropped the lunches on top of the small turtles huddled in the bottom of the plastic planter. He heard a collective gasp and one of them squeaked; another started to cry. It was a soft mewling noise. His lip curled in a snarl, revealing a row of crooked, jagged teeth.

 _Shut up! Shut up!_ He gave the bucket a rough shake and the sounds died down to quiet panting and muffled sniffling.

Heaving it up onto his hip, he slipped unseen and unheard deeper into the tunnel to the side, scrambling as fast as he could with his uncooperative left leg and pounding head. His near-blind right eye continued to twitch and weep and he wiped away the wetness with one shoulder. The scent and sounds of the men faded further and further away as he headed deeper into the tunnel.

That was good. Get away from Men and Not Men and all the pain they brought. Get away from them all.

The darkness was an ally. It was safe. Scrag understood. Just like at the labs. When it was dark, the Not Men were gone. It was the light that brought them into the labs with their voices like grating metal and their vicious needles that pricked and burned; their rubbery tubes filling him up with the hot and cold liquids, penetrating his body wherever they could insert them; and the pain.

The pain always came. Every type of pain there was: burning, aching, freezing, throbbing, sharp and dull. It didn't matter, it was all the same; the hurt.

But in the darkness when his brothers were howling or screaming out their madness; clawing at the cages; gnawing at their own bloody limbs down to stumps trying to escape from the lingering agony of the pain from the day, he rested. Because he was quick and clever. He understood. The darkness was the time to sleep, to heal. Because it would all start again when the lights came on. It was the light he learned to fear.

His stomach twisted and he bent forward with the pain. Just a little deeper, he thought. Had to be safe before he could sit and eat.  _Just a little further._  He just wanted to eat in peace. As he limped along, the tunnel pitched downward and Scrag followed deeper and deeper down.

With a soft grunt and a sigh, he finally set the planter down. Inside, the turtles made soft sounds as they shifted between their bodies and the heavy bags of food he'd dropped onto their heads. The smallest one, the plump one, made cooing noises like the birds the Not Men had brought into the lab one day to play with, to experiment on.

He'd watched them and what they did to the birds; just like the others; straining against the metal bars to get a better view. He always loved to watch. As long as it wasn't him in their hands. He enjoyed the sounds the creatures made when the Not Men had them. His double senses gave him their feelings in waves so strong; so enticing; delicious . . . the scent of their blood; their terror and confusion . . . their pain . . . it was so exciting . . . arousing . . . With a shake of his fur, Scrag pushed the thought away. No memories now. Not now. He was too hungry.

His head whipped from side to side as he sniffed at the air. The darkness was thick around them. But not complete. From somewhere above lights filtered through the network of cracks running up the walls into larger holes in the ceiling where parts of it had crumbled and collapsed. Pipes rattled above and around him with the sound of rushing water. A distant roar of a train echoed around them suddenly. The walls vibrated slightly where Scrag braced one hand for support as he caught his breath and tried to determine which way to go.

The tunnel before him broke off into two directions. Left and Right. A stream of foul smelling water moved along the center, breaking against the bricks in a gush of yellow foam where the tunnels divided.

Scrag sniffed at the entrance of the tunnel on the right. It smelled fresher, lighter. The faint oily scent of machinery; men. No, not that way. He moved to the left and sniffed. Damp, the scent of the sweetness of rot and decay. This was the way.

He turned and glanced down into the pot to see one turtle, the biggest, carefully pulling open one of the paper bags. The thin paper ripped as another reached into it and pulled out a large red apple almost as big as his head. The remaining three gave small gasps when they saw it. He held it in two hands and took a loud crunching bite.

With a hiss, Scrag reached down and snatched it from its hands. Munching and swallowing quickly, the little turtle turned amber eyes up at him. They fell on the apple in Scrag's hands and he reached up for it. Scrag snarled at him. His large eyes grew round with fright as he snapped his hands back, then they narrowed and flashed as he scowled up at Scrag. Scrag growled and kicked the side of the planter; knocking it to one side; spilling the contents out over the dirty floor.

With cries of distress, the four small turtles tumbled out along with the rest of the contents of the men's lunches. Another apple bounced and rolled off the path and dropped over the side into the stream of filth. It bobbed once, coated in the brown waste, and was lost.

The biggest turtle with the blue ribbon around its ankle stood up. He quickly ran over to the baby who had bounced and rolled like the apple right to the edge of the drop off. He wrapped his arms around the smaller one's middle and picked him up, using his stomach to help heave him up. He turned and waddling from the weight of his baby brother, moved him away from the edge of the rushing black water.

The runt and the one with amber eyes backed up on their hands and knees, scooting until their shells hit the wall; keeping both sets of eyes on Scrag. The biggest set the baby down and crouched in front of them. Scrag hissed at them as he gathered up the food into a pile and sat a few feet away from the turtles.

As Scrag opened up and then devoured the sandwiches, licking his lips and fingers as he downed each bit of bread, salami and cheese, the turtles watched him with hungry eyes, licking their lips with each bite he took. The older two turtles looked at one another. The baby had both hands shoved in his mouth, gnawing and slobbering over his fingers. The smallest one had his arms over the tops of his knees with his head resting on his arms. The one with amber eyes glanced at Scrag.

The oldest heard his brother's stomachs rumbling and growling and felt his own aching as he gripped his stomach with both hands. Slowly, the oldest rose up.

Scrag saw movement out from the corner of his eye. He continued to eat but watched as the turtle with the blue ribbon edged his way closer and closer to him. He stepped, knees bent, half-crouched, with his hands pressed against his stomach as he crept closer. Scrag stopped eating and stared as the small hand reached out towards the pile of food next to him. His fingers brushed against the end of a banana.

Scrag slapped his hand away.

Startled, the little one held his hand to his mouth but made no sound. His little chest heaved and his blue eyes filled with tears. With a quick glance over his shoulder at his brothers, two of which were watching him with locked gazes, he twisted back around and reached again for it. This time more quickly. He snatched it and jumped back before Scrag's hand caught him again.

Scrag huffed at the retreating form of the little turtle. "Take it. Hate bananas," he rasped. He knew the glowing mess from the Not Men's van had done things to him and to that man as well as these turtles. He knew it was easier to think; to plan; to imagine things. It didn't hurt as much or require as much concentrating as before. That he could speak came as no surprise to him.

He'd always been smart, even before he was caught; before he was experimented on. He pushed around the food until he found the cookies and a candy bar. These he separated from the rest of the fruit and sandwich. His black eye glittered; nose twitched. "I like the sweet," he said to himself, nodding.

Scrag turned his head to watch as the turtles were mashing the banana into pulp within the peel as they struggled to open it. The one with the red ribbon took it from the oldest and twisted the top with an angry look before the oldest grabbed it back. He pushed the oldest against his shoulder. They huffed and grunted as they pushed and shoved each other.

With a sigh, Scrag stood up and marched over to them. They flinched and fell back. The one with amber eyes frowned defiantly up at him as he wrested the fruit from the oldest one's hands.

Scrag peeled back the top of the banana, though it was mostly mush now from the rough handling. The mashed pulp dribbled over his fingers. Scrag threw the banana back into the face of the one with brown eyes. Who flinched and cowered back. They scrambled to pick it up and took turns sucking at the bits and pieces; licking the peel and biting it with scrunched up and thoughtful faces.

Scrag watched with mild interest as the oldest one carefully fed some to the baby with his fingers. The baby sucked at his fingers eagerly and gurgled, kicking his chubby leg out in front of him. Scrag looked at his hand, bits of the mashed fruit still clung to him. An idea slithered through his mind.

He crouched down and grabbed the oldest by his small shoulder and spun him away from the baby of the group. He held out his hand and raised an eyebrow up. The one that hung over his good eye. The turtle looked from his face to his fingers, covered in the banana. Uneasy.

Scrag motioned with his hand. He said in a gravelly voice, "Take it."

Slowly, the turtle came to understand what he was offering. He used his fingers to wipe some of the banana off Scrag's claws. He turned and gave what he'd gathered to the smallest who coo'd and lapped and sucked at his brother's fingers happily. When he turned back to Scrag for more for his baby brother, Scrag reached around him and pulled him closer; holding him between his bent legs with one arm.

The little turtle braced his hands against the rat's chest and leaned away; struggling with soft noises. His heart hammering as white panic flashed through him.

But Scrag held him fast. Though wiry and thin, he was still much stronger than the child-like creature in his clutches.

"Sweet, Sweet. It's okay," Scrag purred softly until he stopped struggling to break free. "That's better. Scrag won't hurt you. You want more?"

He brought his fingers still covered with the mashed banana up; pressed the sticky mess against the little turtle's mouth until he forced the turtle to open it. Closing his eyes and cringing, he could not stop the rat as Scrag slid his fingers into his mouth. Scrag smiled as he felt the small warm tongue beneath his fingers.

The other two sat frozen as they watched Scrag push two of his fingers into their brother's mouth despite his squirming and feeble attempts to stop him. He grabbed at Scrag's wrist, pulled at the long strands of slick fur, but couldn't make him stop, couldn't get them out. His heart fluttered faster as tears pricked his eyes and he whimpered.

A thrill went through Scrag at the sound. "That tastes good, doesn't it, Sweet?"

With a rough jab, Scrag rammed his fingers in deep; making the small turtle buck and struggle frantically in his grip; making him choke and gag. Scrag, chuckling gleefully, released him. The turtle fell forward onto his hands and knees, sputtering for breath between gags. Coughing, he quickly spun around to face Scrag and scooted backwards until he felt his brothers' arms catch and hold him.

Scrag considered them as he wiped his fingers along his oily black fur with a grimace.

He moved closer to the huddling bunch. He looked at the ribbons that had once been around their shells and were now at their ankles. Each one had a small tag attached. Scrag tilted his head. He inclined it towards the baby and all three turtles snapped their attention at the smallest one in their group. He lay oblivious, happily gnawing on part of the banana peel held in two hands, on his stomach.

Scrag grabbed the baby's ankle and pulled the tag free from the orange ribbon. He stared at the writing and frowned. His head snapped up.

"Let me see," he snarled at them. For a moment no one moved, then the oldest slowly brought out his ankle from out from under him. It was tied with a blue ribbon. Scrag snatched off the attached tag and did the same with the other two as they followed the oldest's lead.

One word adorned each tag. He narrowed his eyes, lips moving. Scrag frowned with concentration. He closed his eyes and thought hard. Identities. Names. These were names. But . . . The names were long and strange. He didn't like them. They made his head hurt when he looked at them. But they needed to be called something. A thought came to him, then. He would just shorten them to make it easier. Better. Much better.

He pointed at the biggest. "Leo," he said then repeated it several times, finally poking the turtle in the chest as he did. This seemed to make it understand. Scrag began to wonder if it could speak as he now could.

"L-Leo," the turtle repeated in a very soft, but eager voice. A sweet voice, Scrag thought and licked at his dry lips. Even after choking him, this little turtle seemed intent on pleasing him. He liked that. Yes, he liked that a lot. He patted this one's head and caressed his cheek.  _So very eager to please._  

He turned to the one next to him. The frail looking one. The runt.

Scrag pointed at the scrawny one with brown eyes. "Don," he announced a few times. This turtle dropped his head and stared at the ground, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. Scrag rushed forward and grabbed the turtle by the upper arm. He jerked him upright then shook him roughly. The little turtle's head snapped back and forth.

The turtle bit his quivering bottom lip, holding out until he finally shouted, "Don! Don!" in a clear child's voice. Like a bell, sweet, as well. Scrag released the turtle and he fell back and clutched at Leo's shell, hiding his face and trembling.

Scrag glowered at him, thinking again that he should have just drowned this frail one. It was obviously dull-witted. Maybe that's what the purple ribbon meant. Defective. Slow. Stupid. Completely useless.

Scrag moved his head so he could consider the next one with his good eye. "Raph," he rasped at him only once.

The turtle stared up at him from where he knelt; a deep frown over his amber eyes; chin puckered and bottom lip protruding slightly in a pout. Something in the way he looked at him made Scrag angry. He didn't like this one. He didn't like those bright amber eyes. The light that shined out from inside of them. He wanted to put out that light. He wanted to make this one cry. Now that was something he'd like very much.

He advanced on the small creature and slammed the heel of his hand against the turtle's forehead, knocking his head back violently. His thick short arms pin-wheeled wildly but he didn't fall. His brothers gasped and made wordless cries of protest. The turtle named Raph didn't make a sound as he righted himself. He blinked in shock but then only glared deeper at Scrag with shining eyes full of unshed tears and sniffed hard once.

Scrag snarled at him, raising his hand to strike him again. But felt a tug against his raised arm as Leo pulled on it, shaking his head, pleading with those deep blue eyes. Dark blue. Sad and stormy. Easy to look into. With one last scowl leveled at Raph, Scrag turned.

He brushed Leo's hands off him and looked around for the last one. The juicy little morsel with the bright blue eyes. Eyes like the color of the sky. The sky when he was free that Scrag remembered only dimly in the far reaches of his memory.

Where had it gone? Casting about, he finally spotted it. He pointed at their youngest brother who had crawled over to the pile of food while Scrag was busy with the others. This one was fast. Scrag would have to keep an eye on him.

"Mike!" Scrag barked and the youngest turtle looked over his shoulder at the group; a large chocolate-chip cookie hung half out of his drooling mouth.

He sat up and took the cookie out with two hands, rounded cheeks bouncing as he chewed. He paused and smiled at them, revealing dimples in both cheeks.

* * *

Hamato Yoshi did not know how long he lay, shivering and panting, in fright; in pain. But the light was dying above him and deepening shadows crawled around and over him from the streaming reflections of the muddy water rushing through the tunnel. He raised up on shaking elbows and sat back.

With a jump and a grimace he adjusted himself, pulling a long thick rope out from under his bottom. He tugged and froze.

Quickly sliding his hands one over the other until he reached the end he stared at the tip as it flicked back and forth. With a trembling hand, he pinched the end of the fleshy rope between his finger and thumb, hard. He gasped and dropped the rope, his tail, to the ground. It swished to the side almost with a mind of its own. He rubbed his hands against his arms, feeling the soft fur beneath them and shuddering with disgust and horror.

His racing mind was in chaos as his eyes darted about the garbage and the shadows of the storm sewer. Distantly, he heard the sounds of scampering feet and squeaking. His face shot about, eyes wide and straining, looking for any sign of that other one. The black one that had been down here with him. But he was alone. Maybe that other one didn't even exist after all.

Dimly, he reasoned that none of this must be happening. Of course. This must be some vivid nightmare caused by a bit of bad sushi. He knew he shouldn't have tried that new place on forty-second street last night.

A chuckle broke from his mouth that bounced around him and echoed off the bricks sounding like a bubbling bray of a donkey. Startled, he stood up, covering his ears with his hands; feeling the thin flesh pucker beneath the weight of his palms only to bounce back up when he removed them from his head, he repeated the motion several more times; experimentally. His black nose twitched along with the long white whiskers.

He looked down at the fast food container laying near him. He could detect the grease and salt, the cheese and meat as if they haunted the empty container. His stomach rumbled painfully. He felt weak and shaky. He shook his head then the rest of his body shook furiously like a dog. He stopped and froze. This dream was too realistic. But it was only a dream.

He decided he should head home. He'd just find the nearest ladder and head up to the surface. Turning, he found just what he needed a few feet from where he stood. As he climbed up the rungs, he tried to ignore how cold the metal felt beneath his fingers; how the ends of his claws clicked when they struck the rungs; how his tail swished back and forth with each step; how he seemed to be able to smell and hear more acutely than ever before. Another shudder went through him.

It was a dream, nothing more. Vivid, certainly. Perhaps it was more than bad sushi that caused this. Perhaps he required medical treatment for food poisoning. That would explain the powerful cramping pains in his stomach; making him feel as though he were half-starved. Besides that, this was the most realistic dream he'd ever had in his forty four years of living. Even deep meditation had never given him such a clear vision.

He was sure that he'd awaken to find that he was safe in his bed, in his apartment, and the events of the past few hours including the men from out of a science fiction movie would be nothing more than fading slips of a half-remembered dream.

"Wake up, Yoshi, you fool," he muttered to himself desperately and ignored how hollow and strained and real his voice sounded in his own ears.


	3. Home is

Inside his apartment, Yoshi stood, staring at his alien reflection in the dirty mirror hanging over the back of his bathroom door. His hands were braced on either side of the frame, shoulders hunched, head lowered, eyes raised. Blood-shot but glittering amber eyes, holding nothing familiar within them, stared back. Every second or so, the skin beneath one eye twitched. 

Water from where he'd splashed it upon his face streamed down the long white whiskers at the end of his gray muzzle to form fat drips before slipping free to splat onto the ceramic tiles below. The little pattering noises seemed like a rat-tat-tat of a drum line to his ears.

In the cover of twilight he'd made his way back to his tiny apartment only two blocks from the pet shop he'd visited that morning in search of some type of companionship. No one had seen him as he darted between garbage bins and the occasional rusted, abandoned vehicle in the alleyways he chose to run through. Though he wanted to believe this was all nothing but a nightmare, Yoshi knew the terrible truth. He knew it was as real as the long pale tail that whipped and lashed about behind him; knocking debris all over the alley and making a clattering noise with every step; until finally, he grabbed the end and held it against his chest as he scurried in the direction of his apartment.

It was real. A nightmare come to life. Of that there was no doubt. He no longer fought against the truth of the matter.

The man he once was, only hours before was completely gone. Replaced with this abomination of nature he beheld in the mirror. Head, hands, feet, body; twisted and deformed into something not human and not animal. Even his eyes had been changed. This hurt the most for some reason. He could not recognize his eyes, he realized with anguish crushing his features. He turned one hand over and observed his palm, pink and hair-less, the long fingers with the slightly curved claws at each end. His shoulders slumped with sickening resignation.

The canister that hit him, the contents were responsible for this transformation. Just as the strange men with laser guns were some beings from a science fiction movie, so was the liquid that had assaulted him from their vehicle. Whoever they were, whatever they were, they were responsible for this. He balled his hand into a slow, tight fist; dropping it to his side.

And yet, something stirred deep within him; a profound revelation. It was not only the men with the glowing goo that was responsible. For surely karma had graced him with her long overdue but not wholly unexpected visit.

He backed up, away from the mirror, one claw going to cover his eyes as pried the bathroom door open. In a daze, he moved into the cramped room that served as his bedroom. Only big enough to fit a twin-sized bed and a small dresser. At one side of his bed was a rectangular chest that held the few treasures from his life in Japan; his collection of weapons, mostly, that he cherished and had salvaged from the blaze all those years ago.

He crossed the room in three steps and sat heavily on the edge of his neatly made bed. He reached out with a shaking hand and pulled the top-most drawer open. Rifling around until his fingers felt the smooth surface, he pulled free a folded and wrinkled picture. He drew it back and carefully unfolded it on his lap.

A young woman; her hair done up in a traditional thick bun on the top of her head, stared with large, dark eyes seriously into the camera. A small bouquet held in her fist in front of her chest; protectively. A much younger Hamato Yoshi stood proudly next to her; his expression one of triumph; of pride.

Yoshi huffed. The damn fool.

This was punishment. For the sins of his youth. His arrogance and pride; his envy and possessiveness. He thought when he lost her in the fire after their heated argument, that, that would have been enough. That the pain of loss, the haunting guilt, along with the knowledge of his beloved's gruesome death would have assuaged the invisible forces that toyed with all men's lives. How wrong he was.

He'd made his mistakes, thinking she'd come to love him eventually was his biggest. And whether that was truly borne from his arrogance and pride or rather something more righteous, like the desire to make her happy, to give her a life  _he_  never could, Yoshi would never know. Yoshi understood what he'd  _hoped_  it had been. For what man wishes to acknowledge the worst about himself?

He'd promised her a life filled with every material thing she could wish for as well as his heart, yet, his gifts and his love was not what she'd yearned for in the secret depths of her heart. Yoshi could never be the man that Tang Shen yearned after. And once the arrangements had been finalized and they were married, she had tried. He knew  _now_  that she had tried.

But he could see right through her carefully placed veil. In her eyes, it was there; that faraway look when he kissed her. And when he held her she was never really there. He should have let her go. It would have been better for everyone if he'd only swallowed his pride and released her. Another truth he'd learned too late. What a fool he'd been. And still a fool, it seemed, because he thought fate and karma had finished with him.

Slowly, his eyes raised again to stare into the alien reflection. This time in the small, dusty mirror above his dresser. Sorrow and regret played across them as he sat there, motionless.

As the years rolled away from that painful day of the fire, when he'd lost everything, he built his new life, his more humble life, here in this land of freedom and opportunity. He had little, but he had enough. In time, he grew complacent, nearly happy even.

Yoshi shook his head sadly and refolded the picture. He sat it on the dresser.

He should have known that the shadows of his youth were long and twisted and followed him no matter how far he'd run. Would he ever be free of his past? Would fate be content with this turn of events? For he could not think of anything worse befalling him.

Just as hope was growing dim, the perpetually optimistic part of his heart began to glow with an idea. Perhaps this situation was merely temporary, he thought, a small flicker of hope flamed to life within him. He didn't know what was in that substance, after all. It could have been something that wears off in time. All he needed to do was stay out of sight. He could do that. He could stay here in his apartment.

He had a little money saved from the last job he had at the grocery store unloading deliveries and stocking shelves. In the meantime, he could devote himself to learning more English. Then, when he was back to normal he could get himself a better paying job, one that would allow him to finally apply for the loan to open his martial arts school. Yoshi blinked and sat straighter, his heart lightened with the visions of a happy future floating just beyond his reach.

Perhaps things would work out fine, after all.

The pounding on his front door had him jumping up from the bed. Heart racing from the sudden noise, he crept from the bedroom down the short hall to his tiny living room. He stood still in the center of the room; head tilted to one side. His tail swished behind him. Every time it moved left, it struck the corner of the wall painfully, Yoshi flinched. Thankfully the strike of his fleshy appendage against the drywall made only the smallest of sounds. He grabbed it from behind him and held it still. 

 _This damn thing._  

He needed to gain better control of it. His keen nose moved slightly to the left at the edge of his snout as it picked up the familiar, pickled scent of shaving lotion and alcohol. His sensitive ears twitched as they caught the scrit-scritching noise of his landlord scratching himself and the grumbling curses under his breath.

The pounding came again and Yoshi jumped. The spring of his strong thighs carried him much further and much higher with much less effort than he ever could move as a man. He realized with a start that he now stood on his kitchen table. Climbing down and mentally chiding himself for being on the table, he paused as the sound of paper scrapping across the floor reached him.

He scurried into the living room and his eyes fell on the envelope as it came to a sliding stop near his feet. Yoshi turned his head left and right and then slowly reached down to pick up the envelope. His developed nose caught the scent of hamburger grease and he saw the dirty thumb print that the scent belonged to. His stomach cramped. He moved into the kitchen as he opened the letter. An uneasy feeling roved over him as he realized it was in fact from his landlord and he remembered it had been some weeks since he last paid his rent.

Placing a kettle of water on the stove he turned the burner on then reached into a cabinet to fetch some crackers all while reading the contents of the letter his landlord had slipped beneath his front door. He frowned as he placed the box of crackers on the table and glanced around at a loss. What else? He sighed as his free hand rubbed his middle. His stomach growled. There wasn't much to be had. He'd already eaten the left-over rice he had in his refrigerator when he'd gotten home, wracked with terrible hunger.

He tossed the eviction notice onto the table with a huff as the kettle began to whistle behind him. As he got out his favorite and only mug, Yoshi sighed. It seemed fate was not quite done with him yet.

Dimly he wondered where a giant rat could go in this city and not be molested by scientists, thugs, nosey news reporters or mutant creatures bent on harming him. Whether it was some instinct borne out of his newly merged DNA or a subconscious desire to return to the only spot that seemed safe in the moment of his terror after his earlier attack, his mind went to the sewers.

* * *

Leo and Raph were the strongest, so they took turns picking up and holding Mikey as the group trudged onward; holding him around the middle as he squealed in joy each time another took over the task. They had tried to let him crawl and toddle along, but he kept veering off in different directions and the one leading them kept getting angry and hissing at them to hurry up or he'd leave them in the dark to be eaten by monsters. Monsters that hid in the dark and loved to devour sweet little turtle-boys like them.

Don followed quietly behind as the four of them followed the rat as he ventured relentlessly on, deeper into the tunnels. He had tried to carry Mikey, but he was too small and Mikey was too heavy. So, he brought up the rear of the group, constantly glancing over his shoulder in case one of the monsters were following them. He could at least let them know if he spotted one.

He rubbed his hands over his arms and shivered. He really hoped there weren't any monsters in this tunnel.

Because he wasn't occupied with carrying Mikey, and he was keeping a sharp eye open for any monsters lurking in the shadows around them, it was Don who spotted the door. His footsteps faltered then stopped as his sharp mind whirled as he considered what may be behind it. Was it something good? Something bad? He wasn't sure, but he did know he was tired. The bottoms of his feet hurt and his legs ached from all the walking. And he hadn't been carrying around Mikey. His brothers must be tired, too, he speculated. They needed to stop. This might be a safe place for them.

He stood in front of the door as the others continued on, oblivious to its existence or the fact that he had stopped. He tipped his head to the side and brushed his fingers against the splintery, thin wood. He decided it might be a good thing to go inside and see what was behind it. His face shot to the figures of his brothers disappearing further into the darkness of the tunnel.

"Uh . . . oh. Um! L-Leo!" he called tentatively, then more urgently, "Leo! Leo!" cupping his hands to his cheeks, fearing he was going to be left behind, in the dark, alone. With the monsters.

He swallowed and called out again, his small voice echoing around the tunnel. His shoulders hunched and his eyes darted around. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But it wasn't Leo that came back. It was the big black rat creature. He loomed suddenly, a living shadow erupting from the surrounding blackness around him. Don cringed back until his shell hit the door.

"You, what are you squealing about?"

"Uh, um . . ." Don turned around and patted the door with his hand. He glanced over his shoulder up at the rat, hoping he'd understand what he meant.

Scrag looked up, his good eye adjusting as he turned his head to the left to see better. It was a door. The fur bristled at the back of his neck. What was this? Hidden underground beneath the subway and the sewers. What was a man thing like a door doing down here in the darkness? He stepped forward and knocked the little turtle-boy to the side with a backhand. He made a soft sound and scrambled out of the way.

Scrag listened. Not with his ears, but his body. He held it tense and stiff as he pressed the side of his face against the door. The sensations came to him. Men had been here. Their scent was thick, aged but still present. They were possibly still around or might come back any moment. He pulled back as if he'd been burnt.

He glared down at Don whose eyes glittered up at him in the dark. And this little dim-wit was standing here squawking and bringing unwanted attention to them.

Scrag snarled and raised his fist. "Stupid! Stupid!" he rasped and brought his fist down again and again.

The turtle-boy ducked but the blows struck him on the top of his head and the sides of his arms as he lifted them to block. Don fell to his knees then dropped down; cowering beneath his shell; arms covering his head as the blows continued to rain down upon him. Scrag shook his hand and grimaced in pain after his last punch struck the hard material of the turtle's carapace. Don whimpered as he cried softly and trembled but didn't move from his curled up position.

Scrag lurched forward as someone pushed him from behind. He spun around to see Raph standing there, legs spread, knees bent slightly, hands balled into small fists held out on either side of him. His amber eyes gleamed.

The little bastard was growling at him.

Scrag twisted and violently backhanded him. The force of the blow knocked Raph sideways into the thin paneling of the door. His body broke through it as he tumbled inside. Scrag hissed in dismay. 

 _No! No, not in there! The men will discover us!_  

He hurried and pulled open what remained of the door; his face darting about, looking for Raph. He caught the dim sight of the top of the little turtle's round head bouncing down a narrow hallway as he ran. 

_Why that little . . ._

Scrag turned, desperate, worried. He turned to Leo who had just appeared from down in the tunnel, awkwardly holding his sleeping baby brother in his arms. Scrag reached over and pushed him roughly through the entrance, then picked up Don by the edge of his shell near the back of his neck and shoved him after Leo.

Don stayed close to the back of his brother's shell, nearly stepping on his heels as he walked. Mikey's head was lulling on his brother's shoulder, mouth open, drool slipping down his shell. His head and arms hurt from where he was hit. He rubbed his nose and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He only wanted to help. He didn't mean to do anything wrong.

The passageway was narrow and dark but less scary than the tunnels had been. Still, Don worried that monsters might be hiding at the end of the tunnel to get them. He was glad that Leo was in front of him. Just seeing his big brother's shell in front of him made him feel a little better.

Scrag followed close behind the sniffling turtle-boy, his body rigid with fear and every sense on alert. As he limped into the narrow hallway, he clawed at the walls propelling him after the small forms ahead of him. Left, right. Left, right.

If the men grabbed the turtles, he could flee. They would not get him. No, he was too clever for that. And he'd be too quick. Let them have the little wretches instead.

The narrow passageway opened up into a wide open room with a high ceiling. Scrag looked up and saw wires hanging exposed from between pipes of various thicknesses. To the left was a large mattress pushed up against the wall. A pile of dirty blankets and pillows were strewn about. Next to it was an old television set. In front of the set was another pile of pillows and a worn couch.

Leo set Mikey down on the couch where he coo'd then rolled to the side and went back to sleep. He turned and picked up a tattered blanket full of moth-eaten holes from the floor. A cloud of dust erupted around him as he shook it out and covered Mikey with it. Leo then moved over to the mattress. His arms shook as he crawled over the mattress and laid down on his stomach, his arm making a pillow. He was so exhausted he fell immediately to sleep.

Raph peeked at them from behind the couch. He looked down at his two sleeping brothers and yawned. He spotted Don and waved to him who was still sniffling and looking around. Raph slowly moved around the couch. He climbed up to the cushions and then curled up next to Mikey. He hugged him tight and closed his eyes. Don moved next to Leo and laid down, resting his cheek on his hands. He was still scared but suddenly he couldn't keep his eyes open. Soon, all four brothers were sound asleep.

As the children settled in and fell asleep, Scrag moved deeper into the room, still wary, still careful. The scent of men was strong, but old. Dust and mildew coated everything. Cobwebs covered the corners where the brick walls met the ceiling. Garbage and empty containers of fast food, cigarette butts, beer bottles intact and broken littered the floor in large piles. A large heap of clothing sat collecting dust and growing mold in one corner.

Scrag looked to his left to see a crooked stack of shelves against the wall laden with canned food items. Everything was covered in a gray layer of dust. But food was good. Very good. Next to that, several feet over, was a set of pipes protruding from the wall and an old rust covered basin that seemed to have served as a sink or bath tub, he didn't know, it was large enough to be a small tub. One of the pipes had a spigot and a valve to turn it on and off with a twist. There was a partial wall and on the other side, Scrag saw a cracked and filthy toilet covered in thick dust and cobwebs positioned in the corner.

He turned to his right. As he explored deeper, he noted another mass of pillows in a heap behind the couch and an entrance to a room just behind the couch and pillows on the floor off to the side. To the left of that doorway, Scrag peered into the opening of another narrow tunnel: a back door, he mused; sniffing the air and tasting the freshness seeping down from the opening it led to. He turned back to the entrance of the room behind the couch. A thin blanket hung over the opening as a makeshift door. Carefully, he edged his feet through the piles of garbage. He gathered the fabric with one hand and pulled it aside.

Scrag froze. There in the center of the room, laying on another large, musty mattress was a man.

Scrag's lip pulled back in a snarl. His oily fur bristled and stood up on end making him look much larger. He'd fight if he had to. He'd bite and claw, tear and rip. Eyes and throat and all the other places soft and vulnerable that Scrag knew to attack. Yes, where they were soft. That's where he'd rend the flesh and drink the blood as it spilled. A thrill of anticipation raced through him.

Rigid with fear and agitation, he waited. But the man was not moving. Scrag inched closer. The man was quiet and unnaturally still. He reached out with one tip of his claw and nudged the man's dirty, bare foot. Nothing. He poked the rubbery flesh and pulled his claw back quickly. Nothing, still.

He slithered even closer and listened with his double senses. His tattered ears flicked in the gloom; he reached out to feel anything. Anything at all. Nothing. The man was here but was not. Scrag sat back on his haunches. Not a man any longer. He was a dead thing.

Scrag considered him as he sniffed once more. No, not good to eat. Too old, dried out and rotten. They could not use the man for meat. But they could use this place. Scrag thought, his mind racing.

If men come, he could hide, he thought as his eye rolled up to the pipes in the ceiling. They'd be distracted by the turtle-boys while he was safe. Then later, he could escape.

Yes, they would use this place, Scrag decided. For the time being. It was a hidden place. It would work just fine as their new home.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of taking my time with this story, I feel like all the pieces are coming together nicely. But I hope it hasn't been too slow - In the next chapter, we shall jump ahead in time a bit. You didn't think I was going to leave Mikey a drooling baby through this entire thing, did you? XD 
> 
> And we'll be getting into the turtles POVs as well. They were just too little right now and were mostly scared and confused at this point. Let me know how I'm doing - Review, please!


	4. Where the Heart is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me people! eep! I hate reading italics so I use them sparingly and don't usually use them for flashbacks, I feel like you're intelligent enough to grasp when you are reading one. So, Mikey is now about 4, Don is 6, Raph is 7 and Leo is now 8 almost 9.

 

* * *

_"Kids are like dogs. You knock 'em around enough, they'll get to thinkin' they deserved it."_

_–_ Sawyer, LOST

* * *

_4 years later…_

 

 _"Cugh, cugh,"_ he coughed and wiped his nose. "Cuh, cuh, cugh."

Don pressed the palm of his hand hard against his mouth, holding in the cough until his eyes began to water. His chest burned until the urge couldn't be restrained any longer and the coughing came even harder and lasted even longer than before. Dropping the screwdriver he clutched in his left fist, he sat forward, bracing his body with his hands against the floor as his body trembled and shook from the violent coughing fit.

His chest squeezed painfully. Shaking, he gathered a fist-full of his tattered gray t-shirt he wore and wiped his mouth as the hacking eased off into panting gasps.

Michelangelo looked up at him from where he lay on his plastron, coloring on a piece of cereal box turned inside out. One cheek was propped by a chubby fist; a thick chunk of what was remaining from a green crayon in the other. The crayons had been a present from Raph two days ago after he and Leo had come back from the junk-yard with supplies. Since he was presented with them, Mikey hadn't put the waxy sticks down for more than a minute or two. Already most were worn down to little more than stubs that he held carefully between thumb and finger in order to use them.

"You 'k? Donnie, You coughin'."

Don could only nod, eyes watering. Mikey smiled and went back to coloring his picture. He hummed softly to himself; kicking his feet gently bouncing them off the back of his shell.

Don tucked his knees beneath the excess fabric of the t-shirt and gazed over his shoulder at the door to their dad's room. He held his breath, then coughed lightly as he exhaled into his shoulder, trying to muffle the sound. The curtain that served as a door remained still. No shadows and no sound came from the adjacent room.

Their dad was still asleep, thank goodness. He didn't want his coughing fits to wake him up again. He needed his rest. He was sick, too.

This autumn had been non-stop rain and even down here in the deep tunnels, the dampness crept through the bricks and pipes. It was getting cold again. The nights found them shivering beneath thin blankets that barely covered their whole bodies. Don coughed and shivered and pulled his arms into the baggy sleeves of the t-shirt; hugging his knees closer to his chest; pulling in his stomach; hoping it would make the hunger pains lessen. His eyes went to the entranceway.

He climbed to his feet and pulled his arms back through the sleeves. One foot nudged the screwdriver to the side; near the rusted metal box that held his other prized possessions: a hammer, two wrenches, a pair of pliers, several other screwdrivers, bits of wire and metal plates, various sized screws and nails.

They'd salvaged what they could from the time the worker men roamed the tunnels muttering with their rough loud voices, making noise as they hammered on pipes, and smoking. Scrag had told them to stay away from the bad humans, but when he stole the men's food, Don would creep closer in the shadows and grab what he could. It was risky, but well worth it.

He now had a collection of tools that he cherished. Sometimes he would just sit and hold the various items. Just the feel of the pliers or wrench in his hand gave him comfort. But now the tunnels in their area were empty of the bad humans. There were no more bags of food. They wouldn't be back again until the weather grew warm and humid. When going above left you breathless from the power of the sun beating on the back of your head and your body covered in sweat.

Mikey watched him as Don crossed the room and stood by the hallway; peering inside for any sign of their older brothers. He rubbed his stomach and Mikey felt the all too familiar ache in his middle. He sat up.

Don stood there for another minute then moved into the area that was their kitchen.

He stepped around the plastic container filled with the food set aside just for their dad. No one was allowed to get into it. Ever. Don closed his eyes as he moved around it, not wanting to see the packages of crackers and cookies. But his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled as he caught the sharp smell of buttery salted crackers and the luscious scent of chocolate-coated cookies.

Reaching down behind several boxes filled with miscellaneous supplies, Don pulled out a dented metal toaster. One side cracked open in his shaking hands and he fumbled but managed not to drop it onto the floor. He hugged it close to his chest and moved back by the couch and sat down on the floor next to Mikey.

"I'm hungry, Donnie," Mikey said.

He watched as Don set the toaster down in front of him. His eyes drifted over to the forbidden bin filled with food. He licked his lips and his stomach cramped. He rubbed one hand against his middle. The bright pink t-shirt with the yellow smiley face crinkled with the motion. "I'm hungry."

Don leaned over and snagged one corner of his metal tool box with his finger and slid it towards him.

"I know. Be quiet, Mikey," he murmured, as he searched the interior of the tool box.

"Raph and Leo gonna bring home food?"

"M-hm," Don replied, not really listening, his cough bubbling up and bursting from between his lips. _"C-Cugh, cugh."_

Mikey reached down and pulled on the end of his mismatched socks covering his feet. One was blue with yellow stripes the other was solid purple. He wiggled his toes and smiled. "Can I watch t.v.?"

Don unscrewed the bottom screws and the side of the toaster came free. He shook his head.

"Dad's sleeping."

"Will you play with me?"

Don said nothing. He chewed on his thumb nail, then made a decision.

Mikey huffed as Don continued to ignore him. He looked around then scooted closer to Don. With a tilted head, he watched his brother deftly take apart the toaster. 

The glittering and strange bits were spread out in front of him. His fingers carefully separated the pieces that were broken from the pieces that worked. His forehead dropped into a frown as he concentrated. He could fix this. He knew he could. As quietly as possible, he rummaged around the rusted box that held all his tools until he found the pliers with the pointy ends.

Mikey reached out and grabbed a hand full of pieces, accidentally scattering the rest as he pulled his arm away in a clumsy scramble to stand up.

Don's face shot around. "Hey,  _cugh, cugh_ , put that back!" Don hissed.

Mikey's grin spread as he held his fist up to further show his brother what he had snatched.

"Na, nah!" Mikey teased then with a cry of excitement spun and ran behind the couch; socks slipping against the cement floor.

Don jumped to his feet.

Mikey peeked around the arm of the couch. His eye brows shot up with glee as he realized his ploy to force his brother to play with him worked. Don came around from behind him suddenly and Mikey dashed forward with a mingled shriek of delight and fright; dropping the small metal fragments all over the floor.

Don's feet came to a stuttering halt as his eyes followed the pieces bouncing in every direction. "No! Mikey!  _Cugh, cugh,_  You . . . little  _imp_! Get over here and help me pick this up!" Don shouted.

Mikey was on the other side of the room, burrowing under the blankets on their mattress. Don could hear his brother's evil giggling as he burrowed deeper like the little rat he was. He stooped to begin gathering the pieces. The last thing he needed was for their dad to step on one of the sharp fragments. He knelt and hurriedly swept a few into one hand, muttering that he'd kill his stupid brother.

Scrag yanked the blanket to the side and lumbered out from his room just behind Don. A thick blue bathrobe was wrapped around him. The sleeves rolled up and the bottom torn away to accommodate his height.

Don's head snapped to look over his shoulder sensing someone behind him. His stomach plummeted. The blow from Scrag's hand sent a white flash of pain across his vision as he fell to the side with a yelp. The pieces of the toaster flew out of his hand.

"I told you to be  _quiet_!"

"I-I'm sorry!" Coughing, Don raised himself up onto his elbow. He rolled forward onto his hands and knees. "I'll be,  _cugh, cugh,_  quiet."

Scrag took a step forward, then lurched to a stop; eyes widening. He snarled in pain as he grabbed at his leg.

Don saw him reach down to pull a jagged segment of metal from the bottom of his bare pink foot. Drops of blood spattered like red paint across the grey floor. Coughing, Don gasped; he covered his mouth. The coppery scent and garish sight hit him in a wave. He paled and felt sick to his stomach. He raised up to sit on his knees.

"I-I'm,  _cugh, cuh,_  sorry, Dad," he said softly; wide eyes bouncing between the blood on the floor and his father's darkening countenance. The blind eye bulged and watered. "I-I'll get you a band-aid!" Don swallowed and looked up at his dad as Scrag stared at the object he pulled from his flesh with a confused glare. Don stood up on watery legs, he put up his hands. "L-Let me get you a band-aid."

His head turned and his good eye focused on Don. "You dim-witted little wretch." Scrag's voice dropped into a whispering snarl, "This is yours, isn't it?"

Scrag held the fragment out to Don with a jerk of his hand. Blinking furiously and shaking his head, Don shuffled back as Scrag advanced; his wrists coming up reflexively to block the oncoming blows. His cough intensified.

Scrag grabbed his wrist in both his hands and pulled Don closer. He shook him roughly as his tail lashed back and forth behind him. He released one of Don's wrists and slapped him and backhanded him until both of Don's cheeks were bright red. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed. His coughing changed to a hoarse wheezing and hacking sound so overwhelming he couldn't voice the words screaming in his head that he was sorry and to please stop.

With one hand he grabbed the back of Don's neck and held him firmly. Scrag grabbed his face and squeezed his cheeks. Don's mouth hung open as he coughed and whimpered and struggled feebly; trying to pull his dad's hand away from his face; his hands pulling on the oily fur; sliding and slipping with no effect. His feet slid against the cement floor as he tried to scramble away. But Scrag held him fast.

With the hand that held his jaw and cheeks, Scrag fumbled the fragment of metal that he'd stepped on between his thumb and finger. He jammed it into Don's mouth.

"Eat it!"

Sobbing and choking, Don shook his head and tried to push the blood-covered fragment from his mouth with his tongue. Scrag pushed it back into his mouth with a rough shove of his thumb; forcing it in. Don felt it cut his tongue and inside of his cheek.

He clamped his hand over Don's mouth. "Swallow it, you little wretch!"

He shook him by the head and Don's knees buckled. Scrag dropped him to the floor in a heap as a coughing fit seized him. He hacked and spit onto the floor next to the turtle.

Shaking and sobbing between coughs, Don reached into his mouth with his finger and thumb. He removed the metal fragment where it was wedged between his cheek and tongue with a trembling hand. Thick blood and spittle dripped in a long line from his bottom lip. The copper taste of blood mixed with the bitter metal flavor of the fragment filled his mouth.

He stared at the jagged segment, gleaming with his blood and dropped it. It was too much. His stomach turned and he retched. Bile rose up in the back of his throat; burning and sour. He coughed and retched again; pressing his cheek against the rough floor. He moaned and closed his eyes.

His brother was next to him, then. He felt a small clammy hand press on his shoulder. He cracked one eye open to see Mikey's concerned face only inches from his. His bright blue eyes filled with worry.

"Donnie!" he said with a trembling bottom lip.

Limping, Scrag moved to the water pipes. With a rough twist of the valve he turned it on and waited. Another round of coughing gripped him. He leaned on the basin in front of him for support. The pipes shook and creaked and in a sputtering burst, brown water began to flow. He waited another minute, coughing, until the water cleared to a grey color.

Then he cupped his hand and drank, again and again until his parched throat was satiated. Carefully, he pulled his foot over the edge and let the water wash over the cut on his foot. He grimaced and hissed as the wound burned. He grabbed a towel hung over one of the pipes and dabbed at the cut. Again he hissed as he pressed it hard to make the blood clot. After a few minutes he removed it. A pearl of fresh blood formed, but it was better. He wrapped the towel around it and dropped his foot back to the floor.

He looked over his shoulder at the small turtles. Don was still lying on the floor, shaking and whimpering and coughing with that annoying cough. That sound that kept him up night after night for weeks now. He narrowed his eyes then turned back to the basin; watching the water swirl around in the bottom to the hole that served as a drain. His hands gripped the edge tightly.

His good eye glazed over as he listened with his double senses. Their fear washed over him. He shivered with the thrill of it. But then sighed as his foot began to throb and the ache from his sore throat distracted him.

Since the runt had gotten sick he was no use to him. And he was always getting sick, it seemed to Scrag. And now he'd caught the cold. 

_What good was he?_

He couldn't go to the surface with them any more for fear of his coughing giving them away. He glanced at the small refrigerator that hummed in one corner. He did repair that piece of junk. 

 _Stupid as he is, he is good at fixing things._  But what more did they need? Only food. And the other two were good at bringing that home. He twisted and watched the little one help his brother sit up. A fresh wave of disgust hit him. 

 _What a feeble, useless little runt._ Even the baby, Mikey, was more entertaining than this one.

His mind wandered and he thought of the little game they'd started to play. A sly smile spread over his mouth as he remembered the first time they played it.

* * *

"Let's play, Daddy!" Mikey said as he leaned on the arm rest and bounced on the balls of his feet.

Scrag watched the television as scantily clad women and men dressed in flashy outfits danced across the scene for a panel of judges. He stared intently at the exposed flesh and licked his lips.

Leo sat on the floor, his shell turned to the screen as he rubbed his feet; sneaking a peek over his shoulder at the screen every few minutes. If he looked too long, Scrag would kick him in the face to regain his attention and he'd quickly go back to his duty. Every night after they'd eaten whatever meager food Scrag left for them after he'd had his fill, Raph would be in charge of cleaning up the mess left in the kitchen; Don would be playing with his tool box, sitting behind the couch and muttering quietly to himself while Leo massaged Scrag's aching joints and feet.

Scrag enjoyed the feel of the turtle's small hands on him, rubbing and kneading at him. Sometimes he'd stop watching the television and stare at his hands. Thinking dark thoughts and plotting for the right time to act on them.

"Play with me," Mikey tugged on Scrag's arm.

Of all the turtles this one had no problem staying close to him. Often, he'd snuggle up on the couch and watch television with him. And he had to admit, he favored this one. He didn't know why, but he liked the way this spunky little turtle endured any of Scrag's punishments and continued to smile and laugh. Perpetually forgiving and forgetting whatever had just happened. Idly, he wondered if maybe this one was defective like the runt of the group. His quick smile and playful nature perhaps were signs of a simpleton. Too stupid to recognize danger even if it rose up and bit him on the face.

Scrag pulled his feet away from Leo and slowly, as if expecting to be kicked again, he turned around on his bottom to face the television. After a moment, he sighed and his shoulders relaxed. He draped his thin arms over the tops of his knees and watched the screen with a slightly tilted head.

Scrag narrowed his eyes as he stared at Mikey and then smiled, wickedly. "Here's a game. Hold out your hands."

Mikey's face broke into a wide grin; his dimples puckering his cheeks. He did as he was told; holding out his hands, palms down. Scrag slapped them, hard. Mikey flinched and pulled his hands into his chest; rubbing one with the other. His eyes turned glassy and a soft frown furrowed his brow.

"C'mon, don't you want to play?"

He tilted his head and hesitantly put his hands out again. Scrag slapped them again, this time even harder. A whimper broke from Mikey's throat as he pulled in his hands again. He took a step backwards. He looked at his father, a hurt expression darkening his eyes; his bottom lip poked out a little.

"Don't look like that, it's a game."

"I-It hurts," Mikey said in a soft voice. Scrag felt his stomach squirm in pleasure.

"It's supposed to, silly. That's the game."

Mikey's frown deepened. He chewed on his bottom lip.

"If you're going to be a baby, then I'm not going to play with you," Scrag shook his head and turned his attention to the television, but all the while his double senses were trained on the emotions filling the room.

He could sense Mikey's confusion, his conflicting feelings of wanting to play, but the pain making him scared; Leo's unease and Raph's sharp attention from behind them, coming in angry waves from the kitchen. He hoped the quick-tempered child would get involved. Counted on it.

Mikey blinked, he looked at Leo who was watching him from over one shoulder. His eyes looked worried and sad. He turned, one hand going to the floor to brace himself as he moved to stand.

Mikey pressed his lips together. He wasn't a baby.

"That's not a game," Raph's husky voice suddenly rang out, right on cue.

Scrag leapt to his feet. "What did you say?" Scrag challenged as he loomed over the thick-set little turtle.

Raph threw his towel to the floor. He pointed up at Scrag. "You're being mean to Mik-!"

The slap sent him reeling backwards onto his shell. He skidded to a stop when his head struck their make-shift sink. He grunted with the impact. Scrag was on him, punching him in the face and stomach as his arms and legs kicked and swung out frantically. Raph snarled and growled furiously sounding like an enraged kitten.

Scrag's face was a mask of delight as he rained the blows down on the little body. Every flash of pain Raph felt sent a bolt of pleasure through him.  _Yes, it felt good. So good._  Scrag felt his heart being to hammer harder and the warmth of arousal spread through him. Visions of dragging the turtle onto his mattress, tearing into that soft flesh between his neck and shell as he mounted him leapt into his mind.

But the blissful image shattered as he felt something tug and then pull on his tail. He spun around and was shocked to see Leo holding it.

"Please," he squeaked, releasing his tail. "Stop it."

Scrag advanced on him, but he stood his ground. He grabbed Leo's shoulders and felt him trembling. Scrag's pulse roared in his ears as he studied Leo's face and blue eyes filled with determination and fear. The arousal he felt as he beat the other one only spiked.

Without thinking, he started to pull Leo towards his room by one arm. His heated mind filling with fresh visions of holding this one down and taking him. With hesitant footsteps, the turtle allowed himself to be led, like the obedient little slave he was. Scrag licked his lips. Yes. This was the one he wanted squirming and shuddering beneath him. This one with his soft sad eyes and careful, confident way about him.

He'd waited long enough to play with this one. He didn't care anymore that he was only a child. He would have his fun at last.

"Stop it!" Mikey hollered. He ran up besides Leo. "I don't care! I want to play."

Scrag paused. He blinked.

The rush subsided and he regained composure. He rubbed Leo's arm with his thumb, looking from one turtle to the next. Mikey brought up his hands; a wavering smile spread over his face. Scrag gave Leo one last hungry look then released him. He turned and immediately slapped Mikey's hands, hard.

Mikey flinched then broke out in a loud, very loud, laugh. Scrag's black eye glittered with malice and glee. Leo's face darted between his baby brother and his father. He bit his bottom lip and wrung his hands together, not knowing what to do.

Scrag hit him again and Mikey repeated the loud, forced laugh. It rang out in the small room, bouncing on the walls and filling in the empty space around them with a manic, desperate sound.

Raph staggered over, his cheek swollen, blood dribbled from one corner of his mouth. He watched in disbelief as his little brother played the "game" with their father. He glared at Leo who opened his mouth; looking helpless and lost. Raph huffed at him. He pressed his lips together and turned away.

"You're stupid, Mikey! And you're stupid, too, Leo!" He screamed and ran behind the couch where Don stood peeking over the back at them with wide chocolate-colored eyes.

Scrag did it again and again until Mikey's eyes watered and his hands were bright red and shaking hard.

"I-I'm done. All done now." Mikey squeaked; his voice quivering. He dropped his hands to his sides where they hung, trembling.

"You sure, baby?" Scrag asked sweetly. "I love playing with you."

"M-hm." Mikey nodded. He gave Scrag one more wavering smile and turned away. He moved quietly to the mattress. He laid down, curled up on his side, his shell facing the room.

Leo moved towards him but felt Scrag grip his shoulder. He glanced up at him.

"I have a game in mind to play with you. You want to try it, son?"

His double senses picked up the wave of intense fright and confusion that washed over the young turtle. Scrag smiled and let go of him.

"Maybe later."

Leo moved across the room and laid down next to Mikey. He draped an arm around his shell and hugged him tightly. Mikey whimpered very quietly into the pillow. From behind the couch, he could hear Donnie whispering to Raph and the occasional rough sniff that came from his brother fighting his tears. He closed his eyes tightly and felt guilt tie his insides into knots.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring on those comments and reviews! Don't be shy! I want to hear what you think - things are picking up!


	5. Angel in the Shadows

Panting, Leo peered around the garbage can, chest heaving, he slammed his body back against the rough bricks of the building. He closed his eyes. He counted down from ten, when he got to two, he leapt out into the center of the alley and started to run. The blurred form of his brother appeared next to him on his left from the other side of the alley. 

Their feet fell into a pattern as they ran towards the delivery van together; splashing through the puddles in tandem. One, two. One, two.  


The back of the white van loomed and Leo linked his fingers together, bringing the palms of his hands up. He twisted and Raph jumped. Using Leo's hands as a boost, he leaped into the back of the van's opened back. Leo glanced to the right and left. The store's loading door was propped open by a large brick. The man would be back soon. They had to hurry. 

Leo watched the edge of the metal door, holding his breath, bracing himself for any sign that the bad humans were returning. He shifted his weight back and forth between his left and right foot as he bounced nervously. The rain made the black t-shirt he wore heavy and it clung to his arms where it hung down to his elbows. It wasn't that he was worried about being seen or caught, despite the constant and adamant warnings by their dad, but more the fact that his brother was up in that vehicle and would be trapped should the man return.

"Hurry, Raph," he hissed, his voice just barely audible above the sound of the hammering rain.

A large white box lunged down towards him. He put his hands up in time to catch the end. With a grunt he backed up and the other end hit the ground with a splash.

"Don't drop it dumb-o!" Raph yelled.

Leo's face snapped up. "Shh!" He gave the door another quick glance. Nothing. He exhaled.

"Can you carry it, or are ya too weak? Cuz I can carry one all by myself," Raph bragged.

Leo quirked an eyebrow, he highly doubted the boast as he struggled to get his arm around or under the bulky rectangular box filled with fruit. The citrus-y scent of oranges and grapefruits tingled Leo's nose and he sneezed. His stomach rumbled painfully.

They'd only had a wedge of rock hard cheese to gnaw on that morning. It was pungent and had green mold growing on the end of it. Even that he'd broken off a chunk without the mold and gave it to Mikey who'd finished his so quickly, Leo wondered if he'd even chewed or just swallowed it whole. And though he and Raph had found some discarded bags of fast food an hour ago, there were only a few dried out French fries on the bottom that they'd shared.

His arms shook as he lifted the heavy box a few inches off the ground. It slipped out of his hands as he growled. Frustrated, he looked up as Raph hopped down with a grunt. 

He stood up and straightened the ragged bottom of his red t-shirt. One sleeve was torn off at the shoulder. But it was his favorite shirt and he wore it constantly. He reached up and grabbed the edge of a two large bags and pulled them down.

"Here, you take these. I can get the box."

Leo shot a glance at the grocery door's receiving door then he peered into one bag. The scent of warm bread washed over him and his knees went weak. His mouth watered and his stomach growled and ached.

"Oh," he breathed and swallowed hard. It took all his self-control not to reach in and break off a piece to devour. He shot his shining eyes to his brother.

Raph beamed at him, triumphant. His amber eyes glittered even in the gloom of the downpour around them. His right eye blackened by a large bruise.

"I know, right?"

Leo smiled at him then risked a glance into the other bag. This one was filled with clear boxes of cookies. Stacks of them. Raph ducked and picked up the heavy box with ease. Leo grabbed the bags' handles and not for the first time marveled at his little brother's strength. 

Though a year younger than him, Raph was just as tall and much stockier with broader shoulders and thick arms and legs. Together, they hoofed it down the alley. Their feet again falling in tandem.  _Splish, Splash_  in the puddles.

Leo shot a look over his shoulder, still no sign of the man. He breathed out in relief. His brother was always finding these great sites to snag food from the bad humans but they often carried a lot of risk of being caught or sighted. He didn't like it, but his brother wasn't concerned about it. 

Leo had a suspicious feeling that he was hoping to get caught sometimes. He was a little too bold and too curious about the humans and their lives for Leo's comfort. But if there was anything he could change about Raph it would be his quick temper and smart mouth. 

Leo's eyes wandered over the faded bruising on the back of Raph's arms and neck. He sighed heavily. He just wished he wouldn't smart off to their dad so much.

 _If he'd just keep quiet, Dad wouldn't hit him so much,_  he thought with a pang.

The black eye he sported was from Raph snapping at their dad when he ordered him to run the bags of garbage out and dump them in the tunnel they used as their garbage dump. Raph had complained that he was tired and besides that, he thought it was Leo's turn and had grouched about it. Their dad had lost his temper again and attacked Raph. 

If his brother had just asked him, Leo would've happily done the chore for him. But then again, he was rubbing their dad's feet at the time so it would've been hard to slip away. Leo huffed.  _Still, he shouldn't have smart-mouthed to Dad._

Raph glanced over his shoulder. "Beat 'cha home, slow poke!" he cried and with a burst of speed, raced off ahead of Leo. 

A strong pang of guilt hit him, as he dashed behind his brother towards the open storm drain they used to access the upper world. He was catching up. Raph might be bigger, but he wasn't as fast as Leo. Leo rushed past him and gave a taunting laugh. 

He glanced over his shoulder to see Raph's determined but happy face. He slowed down, thinking he'd won. He stared at the small pools formed by pot holes shimmering with drops of rain. He wished Raph didn't get into so much trouble all the time. 

With a rough shoulder bump, Raph pushed by him. "You snooze, you lose!" he hollered.

"Hey, no fair! I already beat you!" Leo ran forward.

Raph stopped so suddenly Leo nearly plowed into his shell. Panting, Leo cast around, alert for any signs of danger.

"Why're we stoppin', Raph? We gotta go," he said blinking up into the rain. A rumble of thunder rolled over the tops of the apartment buildings looming over them.

Raph backed up, pushing Leo backwards into the alley. He set the box down and rested his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "Leo, there's a truck."

"What?"

"A truck, it's blockin' the way."

Leo peered around Raph. Sure enough a large square truck had its wheels blocking the opening they used. "Crap."

"I know another way."

"B-But . . . can't we just wait?"

Raph turned his amber eyes at him. "Leo, Mikey and Don have been waitin' all day for something ta eat. And I'm starved. It ain't that far. If we hurry we can get home really quick."

Leo swallowed dryly and nodded.

"Okay," he said in a breathless voice.

"You know which way, right?" Raph asked.

Leo nodded numbly. He knew which way Raph was talking about. It involved climbing down into a shaft that led to the tunnels using a long ladder. Leo remembered the first time he saw it.

* * *

Scrag took a few steps forward in the tunnel. His nose twitched and his ears flattened and relaxed back up.

"This way," he said to them over his shoulder.

It had been three weeks without any workers in the tunnels to take food from and their stores in their home were running low. Scrag had begun taking them out further and further on runs to the surface to rummage through garbage bins for scraps and anything salvageable for their home. Don often came with while Raph babysat Mikey who was still too young to come along. Often they switched it up between Donnie and Raph to babysit, but Leo always had to go. Always.

Scrag pushed Don forward and sent him up the ladder. He paused just for a second to adjust the huge bag strung over his shoulder. The thing was nearly bigger than him, but they needed it to hold what they found. Up the ladder Don went, climbing swiftly and quietly. Leo stood a few feet behind Scrag gazing up into the darkness that seemed to stretch on and on above his brother. Three tiny pinpricks of light shone down. 

Leo swallowed and his heart quickened. "I can w-wait here, Dad," he offered softly.

Scrag shook his head. "Get going." He grabbed the back of Leo's head and shoved him forward. He always made them go first in case any humans were lurking about on the surface. They were to peek and give the all clear before Scrag would move the cover all the way over and they'd get to work scavenging as quickly and as quietly as they could.

All the other passageways they'd taken up to this point had been slow and easy inclined pathways. When they'd get to a ladder it was no more than a few feet to climb and Leo could handle that as long as he kept his eyes closed. And going down was no problem. It was just the climb. 

Even those shorter ladders made him feel queasy and nervous. Those were only a few feet tall. This ladder was different. It seemed to stretch upwards forever. He couldn't even see more than a rough shadow of his brother from the base of the ladder where he stood frozen.

"Move," Scrag hissed.

Leo put one foot on the rung and swallowed. Slowly, he eased his weight up. Closing his eyes, he slid his hands up along the side bars as his feet climbed one rung, then another, then another. Slowly, but surely he made his way up. Higher and higher. The higher he climbed the slower he moved. 

After a while, the top of Scrag's head bumped his foot and he cracked open his eyes. As soon as he did, terror washed over him. He gripped the bars and pulled his body in closer. Barely being able to move his head, he rolled his narrowed eyes to look down at his dad below him. His white, blind eye seemed to float and glow in the murky darkness, staring into him. A white disembodied orb, slick and shining from some unknown illumination. Beyond that was nothing. Just a gaping maw of emptiness, hungry to swallow him up.

"What are you waiting for?" Scrag snarled.

Leo clamped his eyes shut and started trembling.  _Move. Go. Move._  His legs would not comply with his brain's order. Sweat began trickling down the sides of his face. His fists tightened around the bars as he curled his wrists in closer. He was stuck. He couldn't move.

"Ah!" he cried out softly, no more than a gasp as he felt Scrag pushing on his shell.

"N-No! P-Please!" His hands slid on the bars, slick with sweat and one foot slipped off the rung. "AH! AH!" He squeezed his arms tighter, feeling his entire body start to shake. "I-I can't d-do it! I-I need to g-get down! I n-need to get  _down_!"

"Leo?" Don's voice drifted from above full of concern. He sounded like he was a million miles away. Leo started to feel dizzy. He was going to fall. He couldn't hold on much longer.

Suddenly, he felt Scrag's body come up over him. Felt the furry warmth press into him hard until his body was smashed between the ladder and his dad. He felt Scrag's breath on the side of his cheek and one arm snake around his middle. He tugged Leo a little so he could move his hand more freely. 

Leo trembled. His teeth began to chatter.

"What's the matter?" Scrag asked in his ear, his voice smooth and low. It carried a strange note and made his flesh break out in goosebumps.

"I-I'm ah . . . afraid," he sputtered with his eyes closed.

He felt Scrag's hand move up and down his plastron. At first it felt comforting. Reassuring. But then his hand moved lower. Down between his legs. 

Leo jumped as his body went rigid. His hands involuntarily released their grip on the ladder. With a faint cry, he frantically scrambled to regain his hold on the bars. His heart was hammering and his breath came in short panting gasps. He wanted to get down. He tried to move, but Scrag pushed against him, pinning him to the spot.

"Don't move," Scrag whispered and his voice was thick with some unknown emotion. "You might fall."

Leo whimpered and shook violently. And Scrag continued to rub his hand against him, between his legs. His fingers prodding him, searching, slipping into sensitive places. Scrag's breath became shallow as it ghosted over his neck and cheek. His sharp claws poked the tender flesh beneath him. Scrag found what he was looking for in the fold just beneath his lower plastron and his soft flesh. 

In the darkness, Leo's eyes snapped open and they darted around confused and frightened. His heart picked up speed as he felt the claws sliding in and pulling on him. "N-No," he panted, terrified.

Sweat ran down the sides of his neck. Leo's thighs began to shudder and both his feet slipped this time.

_"AH! AHHA!"_

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. " _Please_! I wanna get  _down_!  ** _Please_**!" his voice cracked as he shouted.

Scrag pressed against him once more; pulled on him viciously, digging in his claws and Leo whimpered and gasped in pain. "You want down?"

Leo shakily nodded his head; voice stolen from him; unable to talk; feeling Scrag remove his hand from between his legs. He released a shuddering breath of relief. But Leo felt Scrag's hand go to the back of his neck and grip him tightly.

"Down you go, then."

With a rough jerk, he wrenched Leo free from the ladder; held him suspended in the darkness as his arms and legs flailed desperately in the air. Leo's mouth open in a silent scream; eyes wild and rolling with fright. 

Scrag opened his fingers. 

Leo plummeted downwards, shrieking. He hit the bottom and fell silent as all the air was knocked out of him from the impact. 

Above him Don shimmied down the ladder until he spotted Scrag. He hesitated, eyes round with fear and worry. "Wh-Where's Leo? What happened? Why did he scream like that?"

Scrag rolled his glittering eye up at him. "He fell."

"What!?"

"He'll be fine, it's only a few yards down. Now move it, or you'll be joining him."

* * *

Leo hugged his arms around his torso; shivering in the rain; eyes distant and glazed over.

"We gotta go, Leo. We were supposed to be back by now," Raph said, bringing him back from the source of his continuing nightmares. The feel of his dad's hand on him, hurting him and making him feel weird and so scared. Then falling through the darkness. The bright pain that seized his body. The headache that lasted two days. The way his wrists and elbows had ached for weeks afterwards. 

He hadn't broken anything. But he had hurt for a long time after that. In more ways than just physically.

The rain pattered around them. He looked and saw his bags were getting soaked. He swallowed back burning bile, no longer feeling hungry, but knowing his younger brothers were counting on them to bring home something to eat. Raph was right, they had to go. He peered at the truck still parked over their entrance route and turned back to his brother.

He lifted the bags and squared his small shoulders. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

"Dammit!"

"Raph!"

The oranges and grapefruits fell in a cascade of yellow and bright orange bouncing and rolling in the darkness. Faintly, the brothers heard the gallumping and splashing sounds of the heavy fruit being swallowed by the water running through the center of the tunnels. 

They'd climbed down slowly, carefully, with Raph balancing the box on the top of his head. It wasn't until he was almost down that a spider ran across the hand holding onto the ladder that he freaked; sending the box flying and himself falling back onto his shell.

"No," Raph moaned and he picked up the now empty box. He turned it upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. It was empty.

"Maybe a few are still around," Leo said as he carefully set the bags down. He rubbed his shivering arms and glanced around the murky shadows. He'd gone slowly down the ladder and thankfully going down was not as scary as going up for him, so the experience wasn't as bad as he'd feared. But he still felt shaky just being in this place. This corner of his nightmares.

"No, I messed this  _all_   _up_!" Raph said hopelessly and threw the box against the wall. "Dammit!"

"Calm down," Leo said and his foot kicked a grapefruit. "Oh, I felt one. There it goes!"

"Leo, he's gonna  _kill_  me."

"Help me look. They didn't all fall in the water I bet."

Leo called over his shoulder as he felt around in the darkness, crouching low and following the direction of the rolling fruit. He thought he heard something and brushed it off as being his brother. Then he heard it again and froze. He stood up. Keeping his head tucked low he glanced around nervously.

From out of the darker shadows stepped a grey wraith. 

Leo gasped and fell back onto his rump. It stepped out further in front of him. As his eyes adjusted, he realized it was a large rat creature like his dad, only this one was the shade of a storm cloud with amber eyes like his brother's. He wore a strange looking lightweight robe and one of his hands rested on the top of a cane or stick, he wasn't sure. The other hand was extended to him and it held a round grapefruit. His white whiskers twitched and he crouched down. 

Leo scooted back. His shell hit the wall and he flinched.

"Hello, little one. Is this what you are looking for?" The rat spoke in a soft voice unlike Scrag's. It was pleasant and had a strange accent. "Do not be afraid."

Leo trembled as he slowly raised his hands to take the proffered fruit. Leo clutched the fruit to his chest as the rat looked him over; taking in the bruises, dirt and scrapes. The filthy, over-sized t-shirt clinging to his body.

"I think I remember you," he said in a quiet voice that was more talking to himself than to Leo. His amber eyes gleamed. "Yes, you and . . . there are others, are there not?"

He straightened up and Leo climbed to stand, using one hand against the bricks behind him for support. Leo took two steps to the side. He looked down at the grapefruit then back up to the rat. The rat raised his eye brows and tilted his head. Turning away, Leo dashed back into the tunnel as fast as he could.

"Little one, wait," the rat called from behind him and Leo ran even faster.

After a bit, he collided with Raph.

"Yowch! Dammit, Leo! What is wrong with you?"

Leo rolled off his brother as Raph untangled himself from Leo's legs. He sat up and Leo handed him the grapefruit.

"This the only one you could find?" he asked as he grimaced. Leo nodded. He sighed. "Great."

"R-Raph, I saw something . . . someone . . ."

Raph's attention snapped back to him. "What?" His face darted around. "A human?" He jumped up in a panic. "Let's go. Leo, let's go!"

"No, not a human. A . . . A rat, I think. Like Dad."

Raph instantly relaxed. "Oh, it was probably a shadow, stupid." He grinned evilly. "Or a monster," he said and raised his hands up and wiggled his fingers, then laughed when Leo shoved his hands away from his face. "C'mon let's get our food. Mikey's probably chewin' on Donnie's arm by now." He said as he rubbed his own stomach.

"B-But, Raph . . ." he glanced nervously down the tunnel.

"Will you shut up already?" Raph grouched. "God, you're afraid of your own shadow you know that? Fearless," he said under his breath and chuckled. "That's your new name." 

He snickered as he walked away back towards the bags of food. Raph looked at the bags then at the fruit in his hand. He huffed. Leo moved around him and picked up the bags by their handles. He handed a bag out to him. Raph's eyes sparked.

"What?" He smacked the bag away. "You think I'm scared?" He snorted. "I ain't a scared-y cat like you, Fearless. I'll just tell him I dropped –" his throat caught. "It." 

Leo held the bag out to him, insisting. "Will you just take it? There's two bags. It'll be good enough."

Raph narrowed his eyes and huffed at him. "I don't need your help," he snapped. "You always do that."

Leo blinked, stung. He was only trying to help.

"Why are you so stubborn? There's  _two_  bags."

Raph knocked the bag away and turned down the tunnel stomping off in the direction of their home.  _Fine, if he wants to be stupid about it. Then fine._  Leo shook his head and hoisted the bags.  _I won't feel bad for him, though. If he gets in trouble,_ he thought, vindictively. 

As he passed the tunnel on the right he didn't notice the pale shadow and two amber eyes filled with curiosity watching him go.

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeee! Splinter meets Leo! What do you think? Review for more updates! Woo!


	6. Survival and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you've been warned, but lemme remind ya, this is supposed to be harrowing. Buckle up, pups. ;) and review at the end, por favor!

 

_"Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you."_  –Fix You by Coldplay

* * *

 

Hamato Yoshi considered following the little turtle-children, but thought better of it. He had already frightened the one with the blue eyes half to death. He sighed. It was amazing that they'd survived all these years after all. He only had seen two of them, he thought dismally, and wondered if that was all that had survived.

Dark thoughts followed him as he made his way back towards his den. For a moment, a shadow passed over his spirit and his footsteps faltered. He wondered about the other one. The black one that had been there that first day. Surely the vile creature had met its end down here in the tunnels.

Yoshi's fur bristled. It was not up to him to judge, but the creature had attempted to kill him while he was incapacitated. He remembered that much; the beast looming over him with the brick clutched in his hand, posed for a killing blow. Yoshi would not have stood a chance in the shape that he was in.

The black rat had no honor. He did not know what turned the rat from his dark deed, but whatever it was, Yoshi was grateful. After that he had only the memory of waking later, alone, frightened, hungry and confused.

Yoshi forced his thoughts back to his destination. He'd discovered an abandoned subway station deep in the tunnels not too far from where he'd been mutated and was pleased to find it had water pipes, toilets, as well as comfortable seating and more than enough room for him. He paused.

An ear twitched as he slowly twisted back in the direction of where he'd seen the little ones. The notion of them alone in the dank tunnels, half-starved by the look of them, barely surviving, was unsettling at the very least.

He gently pulled on the long whiskers descending from his chin. He certainly had enough food stored. Maybe he could offer them shelter. The thought warmed his heart. It would be good to have company. His eyes sparkled with the thought. The gentle companionship of children . . . he shook his head, wistfully, if he could be so lucky.

He'd always wanted children. With watering eyes, and a very heavy heart, he sighed.  _Ah, but that was in another lifetime. One I squandered with my arrogance and pride._

Yoshi hesitated then turned towards another tunnel that led to the place where he'd set up a successful vegetable and flower garden. The place where just enough sunlight filtered down through the grates near a section of the city that was neglected and forgotten. He often went there to meditate when his mind was troubled and his spirit melancholy. When the weight of his punishment was too much to bare and bleak thoughts turned towards dishonorable acts of suicide, he'd go there and find some small measure of peace.

He needed to think on this and plan carefully. He was sure they'd endured much in their short years surviving in these tunnels. He didn't want to frighten them away. Winter was coming and the tunnels would become treacherous and pose the risk of freezing to death if one took a wrong turn in the darkness. The last thing he wanted was for them to run off in a panic and get lost in the expansive labyrinth below.

* * *

Mikey laid two hands on his brother's shoulders. Glassy brown eyes gazed into his. There was no anger or blame there. Only shame and pain. Mikey's bright blue eyes bounced between his brother's; all he knew was that he wanted to help him feel better.

Donnie coughed into a loosely clenched fist. When he pulled his hand away, Mikey saw the red and his heart pounded so hard it hurt inside. The rancid sour stench of his meager vomit rose up around them. Instantly, he knew what to do. He gave his brother another pat on his shoulders, then dashed around Don as he sat sniffling, coughing and trying to compose himself.

Scrag turned and watched as the youngest appeared next to where he stood near the sink. Mikey grabbed a towel and returned to where his brother sat. Immediately, he fell to his knees and started wiping up the mess that Don had made when he was sick. Trembling, Don could only sit and watch; miserable and feeling faint; coughing tightly.

A shadow fell over the children and Mikey saw his brother's eyes widen; shoulders rising as his head slowly ducked down. His face paled to a gray color.

Mikey's eyes leapt between his brother and his dad standing over him like a nightmare. Mikey stopped cleaning, leaving the sopping rag where it lay, and jumped to his feet. He shuffled around, socks slipping as he did, and stood between Scrag and Don. Without realizing it, he held his arms protectively out to the sides, palms facing his brother behind him.

"I can clean this up, Daddy," Mikey said cheerfully, a happy smile spreading over his face. "I can clean it all up!"

Scrag pushed Mikey roughly away by the side of his face. He loomed over Don. He growled at the cowering form of the little turtle who kept his head tucked low between his thin shivering shoulders.

Too frightened to look up, he stared fixedly at the vomit coated rag in front of him. Fresh tears spilled over his cheeks. He'd made a mess. Their dad hated when they made messes like this. A bathroom accident had to be quickly cleaned up before he noticed or whoever was responsible would get their face crushed into it. A small whine of fear rose up out of Donnie.

Mikey quickly jumped back between them; his sock clad feet slid along the floor. Laughing, Mikey said, "Daddy, you're so funny!" He reached up and took Scrag by the wrist. The sleeve of the blue robe he wore slid down to cover Mikey's hands. "You sit down. You're still sick."

He pulled and Scrag trained his black eye on him. Mikey's heart fluttered at the feelings he saw in that look; the feelings that were coiling and writhing around his dad like shadowy wispy fingers. The feelings that he didn't understand but knew were BAD.

He was about to hurt Donnie. Hurt him really badly.

It was the same when Leo was rubbing his dad's feet, sometimes. Mikey would be coloring or looking at one of the skinny, floppy books Donnie had found for him; one with lots of funny pictures and words in bubbles that he couldn't read, but the pictures were enough to keep him entertained. When the BAD feelings would come prickling over his skin; making his heart beat faster; making him feel cold and then scared. But not for himself, no, for his brother. Because his brother was in danger.

Mikey would watch as the shadowy fingers would reach out from around his dad and touch Leo all over; but Leo didn't see them and Mikey wasn't sure if they were really there after all; but sometimes, Leo would shiver when his eyes rose up and met their dad's, only to quickly drop back down, and Mikey could feel his brother's unease.

The only way to make the BAD feelings stop was when he'd jump up and demand to play with his dad. The games he'd play with Mikey hurt but at least it wasn't his brothers hurting. He could distract his dad until those shadows went away. Most of the time his pretend laughter and giddy excitement was enough. But only if he laughed really hard, even when it hurt a lot. Even when the tears that fell from his eyes were because of the pain and not because he was having so much fun.

Scrag reached down and balled his fist into Mikey's shirt until the smiley face was twisted and ugly. He brought his snarling mouth down close to Mikey's face.

Blinking, Mikey's smile wavered as the shadows and BAD feelings only grew larger. A soft whimper escaped from Mikey's mouth. The sound of his brothers returning home made Scrag loosen his grip. He turned just as Raph followed by Leo entered.

"About time," Scrag snapped at them and released Mikey who stumbled back a step. Scrag crossed the room as Mikey skipped excitedly behind him. He stopped and looked from where Raph stood, holding a solitary grapefruit in two hands, to Leo who set down two large white bags full of food.

Glancing around, Raph raised his eyes to his dad's and dropped them. Then he raised his hands up to offer him the grapefruit.

Scrag stared at the proffered fruit. He snatched it out from Raph's hands and held it up to examine it. He turned his head and narrowed his good eye at Raph. "This is all you brought me?" he asked incredulously.

Mikey dashed over and peered into the one with the fresh bread. His mouth dropped open in amazement as his eyes darted over all the wonderful food inside. A moment later, Donnie appeared from behind him, peeking over his shoulder into the bag. The smell of food was enough to motivate him to get close to Scrag. Donnie wiped at his bottom lip with a trembling hand and swallowed. They exchanged glances and Mikey smiled widely at him. He reached in and pulled out a long loaf of soft French bread. It was still slightly warm in his hands.

Mikey bent over and struggled as he moved to break it in half when Scrag's backhand struck him across the side of his head; knocking him to the floor, the bread flying from his grasp. He yelped and clutched his head as he stumbled into his brother and Donnie caught him in a clumsy grip.

"Keep your hands off my food,  _pig_! You eat when I say." Scrag turned back to Raph. He held the grapefruit out in front of his face. "One piece of fruit?" Scrag asked and broke into a coughing fit. He hacked and spat near Mikey and Donnie who pulled his feet in quickly to avoid being hit. "Clean that up!" he snarled at Donnie who scrambled up and around Mikey to get a fresh towel.

"Th-There was-" Raph started but was interrupted by Leo.

"There wasn't any other food," he explained and stepped up to stand next to his brother. "He just wanted to give you that special, Dad. 'Cuz you're sick and you said oranges and grapefruits help when you're sick." He risked a glance at Raph who glowered down at the floor.

"Is that so?"

Raph shook his head, stubbornly and Leo felt his stomach sink.  _No, Raph, please._

"No. I had a whole box of that fruit. I found it. A whole box for you . . ."

Scrag straightened up and looked around. "Where is it?" He shot a suspicious glance towards Leo who blinked and kept his eyes on the floor; rubbing one elbow with his hand, wrinkling up the baggy sleeve draped over it.

"I-I . . . dropped it."

"You  _dropped_  it? Why didn't you pick it up?"

"It . . . It fell in the dirty water. I-I lost it all."

Scrag glanced at the fruit in his hand and nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mikey sitting holding his head staring at the bag in front of him and Don quickly cleaning his phlegm from the floor.

"You tried to get me the fruit I needed, son," Scrag said full of sympathetic understanding. Raph shot Leo a superior look. "Tell me what happened," Scrag said softly. "Did the bad humans almost catch you? Is that why you dropped it?"

"It was my fault!" Leo blurted and Raph frowned at him. "I . . . I made him drop it. I was messin' around with him and he . . . he . . . I pushed him and . . ."

"Shut up, Leo!"

He didn't want Leo to protect him. He didn't need it and he was sick of it. Raph knew his dad loved him. Knew that he'd understand. He didn't need Leo to make up things, to get all the attention like he always did.

Leo snapped his mouth shut and closed his eyes.

Scrag eyed him carefully, interested in the interaction he was witnessing before him. He trained his attention back to the stout turtle.

Raph shook his head, his amber eyes gleamed as he explained, "No. He's  _lying_."

Leo dropped his head lower in shame.

"I was real careful. Just like you taught me, Dad. I had a whole big box! I snagged it outta a delivery van! I . . . I was climbing down the tall ladder 'cuz our way home got blocked and then there was a bug-"

"A bug?" Scrag asked, confused.

Raph nodded. "Yep. A big spider crawled on my hand and I . . . I . . . it scared me. I dropped the box down the ladder."

Scrag stood frozen. One tattered ear twitched. After a moment he handed the grapefruit to Leo and placed his hand on Raph's shoulder, turning him to walk with him across the room.

Raph glanced at Leo from over his shoulder. Leo clung to the grapefruit, looking nervous and wary.

"Keep them out of my food, son," he called to Leo. "I won't be long."

He escorted Raph through the back tunnel leading out of their home. Neither spoke as they walked along. They stopped as they emerged just outside the tunnel. This was their escape route that lead to the other tunnels; also to the dumping site they used for all their garbage. Raph blinked up at him as they came to a stop near a large heap of garbage. Scrag moved around him and leaned against the side of a large crate.

"Son, are you telling me you are afraid of . . . spiders?"

Raph rubbed one arm, hesitating before answering. He pulled nervously at the frayed edge of the hem of his shirt. "Well . . . yeah, bugs . . . They're gross and creepy. I hate them," he finished with a shudder.

Scrag dropped his head and said nothing for a few minutes. He covered the end of his snout with one hand. The sound of the water rushing just beyond the heaps of garbage and the groaning of the pipes above them filled the tunnel with groaning and roaring noises. When he raised his head he lifted his arms out to Raph.

Raph watched him, standing frozen, unsure of what he wanted.

After a few moments, he dimly realized his dad wanted to  _hug_  him. And in that moment, a hurt welled up inside of him like nothing he'd ever felt before. His eyes burned and stung with hot tears that welled and threatened to spill over. Because he wanted his dad to hug him for  _so long_. He ached for some type of comforting touch from him for  _so long_.

Raph had seen how he constantly touched his brother, Leo; so full of affection; caressing his face; touching his arms; pulling him into sudden fierce embraces. He'd been so jealous of the contact and affection that was given so freely to his brother while he ached for the smallest indication that he was loved as well.

Raph took a tentative step towards him and when his dad only smiled at him he rushed towards him. He wrapped his arms around Scrag's middle, burying his face into the softness of his dad's robe. A giddy happiness raced through him making him dizzy.

He choked out, "Dad, I swear, I'll get you all the fruit you can eat next time! I promise, I-"

Scrag leaned down.

Raph felt his hands go under his arms.

He heaved him off his feet and spun around. He leaned back and using one foot kicked open the top of the crate that he'd been leaning against.

Confused, Raph squirmed and looked over his shoulder, down into the crate. His body stiffened with sudden intense fright. It was filled with rotting food scraps too rancid to eat, thrown out by him over the past few weeks. The mound of thick oozing muck teemed with roaches. Their brown carapaces gleamed in the dim light. There were hundreds of them.

Whenever he was given the chore of throwing out the trash, he'd open the crate, close his eyes and dump and run. As fast as he could, away from the sound of the tiny slick bodies crawling and creeping through the decaying mush.

Raph's face shot to his dad's. His eyes round circles framed by deeply creased brows. His mouth hung open and his bottom lip quivered.  _"D-Dad?"_  he pleaded in a broken voice.

Scrag smiled at Raph as he lowered him towards the writhing mass of insects.

Raph made a strangled cry and began to squirm and thrash in his dad's grip, but Scrag held him fast. He tugged at his dad's fur on his arms; tearing at it; kicking his short legs; pumping them frantically. His fractured shriek was cut short as he was heaved into the center of the garbage. The weight of his body along with Scrag's hand pushed him further down making him sink deep. The thick, gooey mess sucked at his limbs and the hordes of roaches swarmed over him.

Complete terror stole his ability to make any sound as Scrag slammed the lid back in place.

With a grunt, Scrag lifted a broken piece of rusted machinery that had washed down the tunnels and had lodged in the pile of garbage and debris. It was heavy enough to keep the child locked inside the crate until he came for him the next morning. With one hand he patted the top of the crate, smiling as he heard the rustling of the little turtle squirming and struggling within.

The muffled shrieks and tearful, hysterical pleading was enough to keep him there. He leaned against the crate, sliding his back down until he sat, propped against the side, feeling it shift as the turtle slammed his body against the inside; listening to his fingernails frantically scraping at the wooden interior.

" _Please_! PLEASE! _Let me out!_  Dad! Help!  _Help_! D-Daddy! Please let me out! PLEASE!"

Scrag closed his eyes and reached down, spreading his legs wide. He tuned his double senses into the little turtle's terror and that added to the muffled screaming . . . it was too much. Too delicious.

Scrag licked his lips. He pictured Raph's face as his mouth hung open. As he enjoyed himself, he panted, stroking and rubbing as he absorbed the boy's blind panic and hysteria, his pleasure building along with the boy's level of panic; feeling the crate jump as he slammed his small body into it again and again; each vibration only serving to deepen Scrag's enjoyment of the moment. When Raph's voice began to crack as he called for him, he climaxed; powerfully.

Feeling satisfied and languid, he stood up, brushed off his robe and turned back to head home for some dinner. He loved to enjoy a full meal after such pleasure.

* * *

Yoshi turned down the sloping passageway towards his den, having spent an hour meditating and centering himself in his garden. A strange noise caught his attention. Always alert for signs of people, he froze and listened; anxious and wary. He turned his head. There up ahead. It was coming from down one of the side tunnels. It was a strange, anguished sound.

At first, he thought it was the sound of an animal, injured and dying. But as he moved cautiously forward, he began to realize with a sinking sort of terror that it was not the death throes of an animal, but the sound of a small child. His cautiousness evaporated and he hurried, then sprinted towards the agonized howling of a terrified child.

He came upon a large pile of debris and garbage across a thick stream of storm run-off and sewage. His sharp eyes darted around in the darkness trying to find the source of the keening cries. He took several steps back then leapt over the filthy water. He stumbled forward and clutched his cane to his chest.

Yoshi knew to be careful, but the sounds that he was hearing urged him to move swiftly. His rounded ears flicked and spun on his head until he found the source of the harrowing sounds. He stood in front of a large crate as dread thick as tar washed over him.

_Who would do such a thing to a child?_

With a groan, he shoved the metal piece of junk off the top of the crate and using his cane as leverage, pried off the top. A child sprang out with such force, Yoshi fell back. He glimpsed a flash of bright amber eyes, wild with terror. The child was a hysterical blur as it shrieked and jumped, shuddered and sobbed until he fell into a fetal position, covering his head with thick arms spotted with multiple bug bites and bleeding scrapes.

Yoshi blinked and rolled onto his knees. He realized with a start that the child was one of the little turtles he'd seen earlier that day.

 _How did this happen to you, little one?_  Yoshi crept closer, not wanting to frighten the child any more than he already was. Gently, he placed a claw on the child's back. The little turtle was shaking hard and making a strangled, hoarse noise that sounded like a broken, soft scream; over and over.

"Shh, child."

At the sound of his voice, the child raised his head. Bright eyes full of pain blinked up at him. Then they widened and he scrambled back, knocking into a pile of garbage, spilling it to one side. His head darted around.

"N-No! Get away from me!" he shouted, his weakened voice hoarse and painful sounding.

Yoshi tilted his head. "Please, child. I will not harm you."

The little turtle jumped to his feet and raced off down one of the tunnels before Yoshi could speak to him any further. He watched him disappear into the darkness and dropped his head and sighed. He knew his form could be frightening, especially to a child. He'd hoped that since the child was a mutant like him, he wouldn't react like the humans above at his appearance.

Yoshi stood up, the bones in his knees creaking and popping.

He only hoped the child had run back to his home and made it there safely. He turned back to the crate; resting one hand on the edge of the opening. The interior was nothing but rancid garbage and hundreds of roaches. A shiver raced through him and his fur bristled.

He frowned, wondering again how the little one got trapped inside there like that in the first place. More disturbing, how long was he trapped in there? He tapped the corner of the crate with the palm of his hand. A large roach crawled up over his hand and he flicked it away. An uneasy feeling pooled in the bottom of his stomach.


	7. Price of Courage

_"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear."_  –Mark Twain

* * *

 

Kneeling at the spot where he'd cleaned up after his dad, Donnie looked at Leo standing in the center of the room holding the grapefruit in his hands. In his mouth, his tongue brushed the gash on the inside part of his cheek. The copper taste of salty blood spread through his mouth. His stomach lurched and ached. Since he'd thrown up, his empty belly cramped and hurt. The inviting scent of the food coming from the bags was making it worse. He pressed his fists into his middle to try to make the pain stop.

He looked at Mikey, still staring forlornly at the bag of food in front of him. His arms were wrapped around his middle.

Donnie could hear the gurgling noises from where he stood, his own stomach's groaning matched his younger brother's. He stood up on shaking legs and moved to where the loaf of bread had fallen from his little brother's grasp. For a moment, he only stood there, fighting the urge to cough and failing. His chest hurting with each painful eruption of air. But his empty stomach hurt more.

He reached down with shaking hands and picked up the bread.

When he turned around both brothers were staring at him. Mikey looking hopeful and curious, Leo looking worried and anxious. Leo gave a short shake of his head.

With his chin jutting out in defiance, Don tore off a large chunk from one end. He strode over to where Mikey sat and handed it to him. Mikey took it in two hands and immediately shoved the whole thing into his mouth. Donnie blinked in shock as Mikey forced the entire wad of bread into his rounded cheeks; eyes shining with gratitude as he chewed and smacked his lips. He reached out for more before he even swallowed.

Leo gasped. "D-Donnie!"

Leo shuffled closer. He sat the grapefruit on the floor next to the bag and moved to take the bread from his brother's hands.

Don pulled away; shaking his head violently from side to side. He frowned as he stared into his brother's fear-filled blue orbs. Deliberately, he ripped another chunk off and slowly brought it to his own mouth. He quickly began to take hurried bites between his tight coughs. Before long, the piece was gone.

Leo glanced over his shoulder and seeing no sign of their dad, ran a trembling hand over the top of his head. "We . . . We aren't supposed to eat any of this until Dad says to," Leo reminded him.

"We're  _hungry_ ," Donnie said. He broke out into a fit of coughing. After a minute he went on, "They might not come back for a long time." He glanced at Mikey who swallowed down the last of the wad in his mouth and stared at the rest of the bread in Don's hands. "We waited all day for you guys."

"B-But, Dad said . . . he's gonna get mad," Leo tried to reason with them, but it was too late. The damage was done. His own stomach rumbled painfully. His eyes roamed over to the two bags that he was tasked with guarding. Then over to his two brothers, holding their stomachs, the pleading looks on their faces. Leo stared at the ripped loaf in his brother's hands with a sinking feeling in his gut. His mind raced. Maybe he could think of some way to feed his brothers and not let their dad know any of the food was gone. He'd have to be really careful so they didn't get caught.

"I have a plan," Leo said, staring at the bread with a distant look in his eyes.

Mikey scooted closer to his brothers and climbed to his feet. The bright smiley face on his shirt contrasted with the tension in the air. Donnie, looking a little suspicious held the bread closer as he tilted his head to hear his brother out. He coughed dryly; turning his head to one side.

Leo held his hand out. "Give that to me."

Don looked from his brother's hand to the loaf. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"No,  _cugh, cugh_." He rolled his arm protectively around the bread and glared at Leo.

Leo glanced over his shoulder again then back to his brothers. They could be back any minute. Leo had no idea where his dad and Raph were going but they just got back with food and he knew his dad would want to eat right away. He didn't have time to waste.

With a huff he asked, "Don't you trust me?" He stood, looking from one brother to the other.

Mikey and Donnie exchanged glances. Leo was the oldest. The bravest. He always shared his portion of food with them whenever he could. And he was their dad's favorite. They all knew that from the way Scrag was always keeping him close by. If he got into trouble, he wouldn't be punished like they would be.

Mikey looked from Leo to Donnie; hands on his hips. He nodded, looking very serious for his five years. He pressed his mouth together, puffing out his cheeks. He crossed his arms over his chest.

He said, "I trust you, Leo." Only he still pronounced his name with a 'w' sound instead of the 'L'.

Leo couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, Mikey," he said quietly. He turned his gaze to Donnie who still looked uncertain.

His mouth still ached from the cut and his head pounded from the slaps he'd endured. He really didn't want to get into any more trouble. Just the thought of his dad finding out what he'd done in his moment of desperation made his legs feel watery and weak. He was just so hungry he couldn't take it anymore. His brown eyes met blue and he stared into them seeing the steely promise of protection there. The determination to make it alright. With a resigned sigh, finally, he handed it over.

Leo wasted no time. He quickly pulled the rest of the paper wrapper off the end of the loaf. He balled the paper up and set it down. Breaking the bread into several smaller chunks he ran across the room. He looked around and then seemed to come to a decision. He stuffed two pieces under two pillows on the mattress.

He looked up at his younger brother's curious expressions and said, "For Raph, for later."

He ran and grabbed the wadded up paper wrapping. He dashed to the worn out sofa. He shoved the wrapper into one cushion of the couch, as deep as he could. He then dashed back to where Mikey and Donnie watched in silence. He handed each of them two pieces then quickly ate one for himself. The feel of the soft bread in his mouth was heavenly. He closed his eyes for a moment; relishing the yeasty flavor. Chewing and finishing rapidly, he swallowed and urged the other two to eat their bits.

Mikey was done in a matter of seconds; Donnie a few moments longer.

They brushed the crumbs from the fronts of their shirts and Leo reached over to wipe away a few from Mikey's chin. When they were done, Leo's eyes sparkled in a way that Donnie hadn't seen in a long time. He beamed at them and the sight seemed to fill the room with light. "Good job, guys."

Stomachs full and basking in the warm praise from their big brother, Mikey giggled gleefully and even Donnie managed a soft smile.

The warmth of the moment succumbed to the awful chill of their dad's sudden presence as Scrag's shadow fell over Leo from behind. The smiles on Donnie and Mikey's faces fell away. Scrag placed a clawed hand on Leo's shoulder and the turtle's expression fell as he blanched.

"Good job?" Scrag's voice was slithering with curiosity. "What exactly are we celebrating here, boys?"

No one moved. No one spoke. Only the intermittent tight sound of Donnie's cough filled the room. Scrag's opposite hand snaked around Leo's collar bone, trailing one claw along the front of his throat as he brought his fingers up just under Leo's chin. He gently but firmly pushed at Leo's chin until their eyes met. He trembled slightly and Scrag looked pleased.

"Nothing to say?"

Leo swallowed. He blinked rapidly and opened his mouth. Scrag pressed his finger against his lips before he could speak. Leo suddenly realized with a shock that his brother had not returned with their dad. A spike of fear lashed through him. He pulled his mouth away from his dad's finger.

"Wh-Where is-"

"Shhh," he stared down at Leo. From the corner of his eye he saw the other two standing, shivering next to each other. "Why don't you show me what your brother brought home for Daddy, boys?"

Carefully and quickly, Donnie reached into the bags and handed the items to Mikey who took them in his hands, stared at them each for a moment with wide eyes before setting them down in a wide arc for their dad to take his pick. When they were done they stared at the clear boxes of cookies, sliced cake, the loaves of bread, the bag of brown and black rolls spread out before them.

Scrag stood behind Leo still, stroking his claws across his upper plastron towards his shoulders over and over. He nodded, satisfied with the haul. Leo stared at the floor with glazed eyes, not seeing anything with a dazed expression that faintly looked like he had eaten something bad and now his stomach was hurting.

"Are you hungry, boys?" Scrag asked.

Mikey and Donnie looked at each other and then at Leo. Their guilt was evident and clear as the two children nervously shook their heads in unison.

"No?" Scrag asked incredulously.

They shook their heads again. Mikey's sock-clad foot with stripes poked into the ground in front of him.

Scrag peered around the items spread before him. Blinking slowly, he trained his double senses onto the children. He felt guilt and waves of apprehension. When he opened his eyes again he rechecked the food laid out on the ground.  _Ah ha!_  He only saw one loaf of bread where undeniably there were two earlier. His tail lashed back and forth.

"And where is that bread you took from the bag, Mikey?"

Mikey's face shot up, then darted from one brother to the other. A look of panic obviously painted on his face. Slowly he shrugged.

"Did you do as I asked, son?" Scrag leaned down as he spoke softly into Leo's ear. "Did you keep their little mitts off my food?"

Leo closed his eyes and nodded. Scrag smiled wickedly.

"Is that so? Hmm."

He patted Leo's shoulders and limped around him. His left foot still ached from where he had stepped on that piece of metal. He shot a sneer in Donnie's direction who cowered back from the glare and rubbed his arm anxiously. Scrag moved to sit on the couch. Snapping his fingers, Donnie and Mikey jumped.

"Get my pillows," he ordered.

The two youngest scrambled to the pile behind the couch. They returned and stacked the pillows up the way their dad liked when he ate. Scrag leaned back as he eased his feet up on the stack. He motioned with one hand and Leo moved to kneel before him. Scrag tilted his head and gave a short nod for Leo to begin. Focusing on the task at hand, he went to work, carefully cradling his dad's offered right foot and massaging it.

Mikey turned and scurried towards the food. Usually, it was his job to bring Scrag the food he wanted to eat. Serving him while his own stomach ached and remained empty. Mikey hurried and picked up one container of cookies and wrestled with it growling in frustration until the clear box snapped open. He brought it before Scrag and placed it down on his lap.

Scrag reached in and brought up one large cookie. He knew they had eaten the bread. Stolen it from him. He could smell it on them above their guilt and nervousness. He'd make them each pay for that. Especially the little fat one here.

He twisted the cookie side to side as he presented it to Mikey who stared at it with shining rounded eyes.

The scent of brown sugar and chocolate chips tantalized the little turtle. He felt his mouth fill with saliva. In his entire life, he only remembered eating a cookie once. And that memory was faded and distant. He only remembered it was good. Really, really good. As he reached for the sweet in amazed disbelief, Scrag chuckled coldly and snatched it away. In two snaps, he devoured it.

Leo risked a glance at Mikey who blinked away the disappointment and offered his dad a weak smile. Scrag brought his leg up and cracked Leo in the mouth with the ball of his foot. Leo blinked hard from the impact and gasped. Immediately, he refocused and reached for his dad's other foot. This only got him another crack in the face. Leo lurched back with a yelp; confused at what he did wrong.

"Not that one, idiot! That foot is cut." He shot another glare in Donnie's direction and snarled.

Donnie seemed to shrink into himself under his over-sized t-shirt.

Mikey spoke up, distracting him. "Can I have one?"

Scrag stared at him, shocked. "What?"

From the corner of his eye, Mikey saw Donnie scurry around to the back of the couch where he often hid near his rusted box of tools.

"You . . . want one? A cookie?"

Mikey nodded enthusiastically. "M-hm!"

Slowly, Scrag lifted another cookie up and again offered it to Mikey. "Take it. Go on. I bet you're  _very_  hungry."

Mikey nodded and reached for it as Scrag leaned forward and smacked him across the face.

Leo gasped as Mikey fell back onto his bottom with a grunt. Suddenly, Leo wished more than anything that Raph was here with them. But his brother hadn't come back with their dad and Leo wasn't sure what to make of that. But right now, he wished Raph was there to make this stop. Guiltily, he realized how often Raph stepped between their dad and Mikey or Donnie while he stood by frozen with fear and uncertainty. But not Raph. He would jump to their defense every time. Knowing full well that their dad's fury would be turned on him. He took the beatings and endured the pain. He did. Every chance he got. He always rushed in despite the fact that he'd be the one beaten.

Leo's face dropped in shame. For not the first time he wished he was more like his younger sibling. So strong and brave. Always so brave.

Mikey quickly bounced back up onto his knees. Laughing off the pain, the sound of his mirth was hard and forced. "You're . . . so funny, Daddy."

Scrag ate the cookie, watching Mikey as he did. He licked his lips and shifted in his seat. This was beginning to be a fun new game. A nice way to get back at the little thief. He only wished he thought of it sooner. When he felt their hollow overwhelming hunger like a red haze hanging in the room.

He took out another and presented it to the little turtle. This time Mikey only smiled up at Scrag, he shook his head back and forth gently refusing the offer. Scrag raised his eye brows and motioned for him to take it; insisting. Hesitantly, Mikey reached for it. Again Scrag lurched forward and slapped Mikey across the face. He cackled as he quickly devoured the sweet.

Mikey's reddened face dropped, but recovering quickly he looked up and laughed his false giddy laugh. "Hee, hee. Good one," he chuckled.

Leo cringed where he knelt; feeling his face heat with anger. He had to make this stop. It's what Raph would do. He could be brave, like Raph. For Mikey. For all of them. He was sick of feeling afraid all the time. Afraid to make a mistake; afraid to disappoint their dad; afraid to be bad and talk back. Enough.

"Something wrong?" Scrag asked him.

Leo's eyes lowered as he frowned then snapped them up at his dad. "That's mean," he said quietly.

Scrag stiffened and sat up. He picked up the now empty plastic container and tossed it to one side. It clattered where it hit the ground.

"What did you say to me?" Scrag asked him as he pulled his feet from Leo's hands. His voice full of warning.

Leo didn't break his eye contact and said, "That's mean. Teasing Mikey like that. He . . . He's just little." As Scrag's face darkened, Leo's voice quavered as his moment of courageous resolve weakened. But he didn't stop. He could be brave like Raph. He could. "You can't do that. It-It's mean."

Mikey's face shot back and forth between them.  _What was Leo saying?_   _Didn't he feel that?_   _The danger?_  The black tendrils were there surrounding his dad like a horrible living shadow. They were writhing and jumping, reaching out for his brother. Falling all over and around him like nothing Mikey had ever seen before. He began to shake in fear.

"N-No! I-I want . . . I n-need . . ." Mikey faltered as Scrag rose to his feet looming over his still kneeling brother.

"How dare you . . ." Scrag's voice was low. "Do you think you're in charge here? Eh?" He reached down and gripped Leo by the throat in one swift movement. "You a big boy, now? Think you can boss me around? Tell me what I can and can't do?" he asked as his fingers tightened even more around his neck.

Leo choked and struggled. His legs kicked and bucked as Scrag shook him.

Mikey raced around and pulled at the sleeve of his dad's robe. "Daddy! Don't hurt Leo! Daddy,  _please_!" There was a hysterical note of fear in Mikey's voice that brought Donnie up from his hiding place.

He peered at them from the back of the couch. Donnie watched in horror as Scrag twisted and lashed his tail across Mikey's face. The sound of the impact was like the crack of a whip striking flesh. The little boy's pleading was brutally cut short. He yelped sharply in pain and fell back; clutching at his mouth with both hands. Bright crimson blood seeped from between his chubby fingers.

Donnie rushed to his side and pulled him away as another lash from their dad's tail whipped out, just missing him. He braced his baby brother against one leg as he twisted to shield him with his shoulder and shell. He would not let that tail hit Mikey again. Trembling, he hugged him tightly against his chest as Mikey bust out into loud sobs.

"Leo-oo!" he sobbed.

"Get to bed, both of you!" Scrag snarled at them as he dragged a struggling, choking Leo towards his room by the throat.

* * *

Raph ran down the tunnels.

Away from the stench that gagged him. Away from the bugs with their gleaming bodies that crawled and skittered. Away from the pinchers and sharp little legs that burrowed into all the crevices and corners of his body; under his shell; across his back and around his hips and bottom; scuttling their way deeper, trying to get under his skin. 

 _Ugh!_  He could still feel them crawling all over him. A short bark of revulsion broke from him as he scrubbed the sides of his face and neck as he ran. The soles of his bare feet slapped against the grime covered tunnels. Bits of the rotting food that still clung to him dribbled and flung off his skin and shirt as he ran. His breath puffed out from his chest in soft sobbing bubbles. Rubbing his scraped and slime-covered knuckles against both eyes, he ran blindly for a bit; fresh tears stinging. His mind was a buzzing storm of blank terror.

His feet came to an abrupt stop at the entrance to the narrow tunnel that led back to their home. Chest heaving, Raph stood, suddenly unsure and shaken. He wiped the inner parts of his forearms against the sides of his shirt. If he went inside now, would his dad take him back? Force him back inside the crate?

He stood shaking; knees quaking so hard they bounced into each other.

And what about that other one? Raph jumped as he remembered. Looking around for any sign that the giant gray rat may have followed him, he hiccupped; rubbing his trembling arms. If he was followed his dad would be furious. He gulped as he considered the punishment he'd face if he were tracked here.

He took two steps over, until his feet stepped into the icy murky water. He peered into the yawning darkness and blinked. Nothing. The tunnels were empty except for the distant clanking, grinding sound of a subway train passing somewhere above them.

He blew out a breath. He spun around and leaned against the wall; sliding down to the ground. He shoved his bent knees beneath the stretched out fabric of his filthy t-shirt; looking for some warmth. He moved his arms so they draped over his knees and rested his chin on his arms; staring at the darkness; every now and then a tremor shook him violently and he sniffled. But he wouldn't go inside. He couldn't risk being taken back there and shoved inside again.

He hiccupped once more and rested his cheek against the crook of one elbow and closed his eyes. A tear rolled down the side of his face as he sat quaking in the dark just outside his home.

He began to drift to sleep when suddenly he shuddered as the frantic feeling of roaches running all over his body crawled over his skin. Quickly, he brushed at his arms and legs, huffing and gasping in barely controlled panic; toes curling, one foot covering the other as he rolled back into a tight ball and rocked. His amber eyes clenched tightly.

Briefly the thought of running away flashed through his mind. He cracked open one eye. Raph chewed the inside of his cheek as he entertained the thought.  _That would teach 'em! Then he'd be so sorry for being so mean to me!_

Raph's amber eyes peered around in the murky darkness. The pipes around him suddenly groaned and creaked making him jump. He tucked his feet closer to his bottom and hugged his knees harder to his chest. He clamped his eyes closed and pushed his forehead into his arms; trembling.

There was nowhere to run, he thought dismally. The bad humans would get him if he went above. And his dad told him many times about the labs and white lights and what humans liked to do to little mutants. All the scary things they'd do to his body if they caught him. A shudder wracked his small frame. Running away was not an option. Maybe when he was bigger he could do it. When he grew up for sure. He would. He would take Mikey with him and maybe Donnie if he wanted to go.

Leo could stay here with their stupid dad, he thought vindictively and sniffled.

The waves of jealously came fresh and painful. He hated Leo so  _much_  sometimes. He never got into trouble. He never did anything wrong. Raph sniffled again.

His stomach rumbled as his thoughts turned to all the food he'd brought home. He licked his lips and swallowed as he glanced over his shoulder at the passageway that led back inside. Where his brothers and dad were all probably enjoying their meal together, laughing and having fun while he was all alone in the dark. Another tear fell and his empty stomach bounced with his hitching breath.

He scrubbed the tear away angrily with one curled fist. His arms and legs burned and itched from the bug bites and his shirt smelled bad like the garbage he'd been sinking in inside the crate.

He wanted to go inside. But he couldn't go in. No. _I'm never goin' in there again. He hates me anyway,_ he sniffed. It was fine, because he didn't want to go inside. But he did and more than anything he wanted to crawl up on the soft couch with Mikey where he slept every night, snuggled up tight; feeling safe and off the ground where all the bugs crawled, hugging his baby brother like a teddy bear. A soft moan rose out of him.

He decided to wait for a while then sneak inside. His dad would be asleep and then at least he wouldn't have to spend the night in the tunnel all alone.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyin' the ride? Leave me those interesting thoughts and comments, I love reading them so much! Everyone's reactions and insights have been so fascinating and fun!


	8. Obedience Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Serious warning - this story is M for a reason. This may be the darkest thing I've ever written. Please be warned.   
> Kisses ahead of time, sweeties, this is gonna hurt. You ready? . . .

 

* * *

 _"Your mom and dad are supposed to protect you from that. They're not supposed to be the monster."_  –Samantha Young,  _Down London Road_

* * *

 

With a heave, he shoved Leo through the blanket hanging in the doorway into his room.

Leo's feet shuffled back; arms flailing. His heels knocked into the floor as he tried to stop himself from falling to the ground. The back of his heels struck the edge of the Scrag's mattress and he toppled onto his shell. With a gasp, he rolled to one side and then scrambled on his hands and knees off the bed onto the cement floor.

The room smelled of musk and mold; dank with the heavy scent of Scrag's body. A blanket caught one foot and Leo shook it off with a grunt and a frantic shake of his leg. He ran to the corner of the room and spun around; chest heaving; fingers digging into the bricks behind him.

He'd only been in his dad's room once or twice before. They were never allowed inside unless it was to bring him something from his bin of food when he was too hungry and too tired to raise himself from the mattress; and then they had to scurry away lest they receive a smack or a snap with the end of his tail. Leo's head darted around. There was only one way out and Scrag was standing in the way. With a hammering heart, he realized he was trapped.

Scrag stood just inside the room; watching him with his good eye glittering; head tilted slightly. His tail lashed back and forth slowly. The air hung heavy with his anger and was punctuated by something slick and sinister. A taint in the atmosphere that Leo couldn't comprehend, but knew it was directed at him. Scrag reached down and untied the knot in the center of the robe's fabric belt. Leo inched his way along the wall to the other corner; shell scraping along the bricks making him shiver; keeping his eyes trained on his dad.

Scrag strode across the room and stood before Leo; looming over him. Leo quailed in the corner; expecting a beating; prepping for the blows that were sure to rain down on him any second. But he only stood there, staring down at Leo.

With a shrug, Scrag's robe fell open and slipped from his shoulders to the floor, exposing his body and his full arousal. Leo swept his gaze away; shaking; feeling embarrassed and scared and suddenly sick to his stomach. He shrank further into the corner, trembling hard; drowning in his fright and confusion.

Scrag's hand shot out and gripped him by the throat; pulling him upright. Leo's blue eyes widened to circles.

"We're going to play a little game, son. To remind you who's in charge here," Scrag's voice was low, purring. It was the voice from the tunnel; from the ladder; from his nightmares. Leo's stomach turned to ice and dropped. He shook his head and struggled weakly against Scrag's hold.

"P-Please," he rasped.  _"No."_

Scrag turned and flung the turtle down onto the mattress. Leo rose up and tried to crawl off quickly, heading for the doorway, but before he got far Scrag leapt on him; pressing him back down firmly. Leo squirmed and struggled; trying to scramble free. His fingers clutched uselessly at the blankets covering the mattress. Scrag's arm went around his throat; choking Leo with his elbow. He felt Scrag's other hand snake around his middle; felt the nails as he moved his hand lower, between his legs; to the small fold just under his plastron.

"S-Stop! Ah! Agh!" His short scream was cut off by Scrag tightening his arm around his throat. Leo choked and gagged.

"Sh-shh," Scrag's voice was in his ear. He pressed his body down harder on Leo; squeezing the breath from him in a puff. "Scream again and I'll bring the little pig in here with you."

Leo froze; glassy eyes blinking in the dark.

"Would you like that?" His hand stroked him and pulled at him. Leo shuddered and squirmed. "I'll have him watch. Then I'll watch you do the same to him. Doesn't that sound sweet?"

Leo whimpered; wanting someone to come and save him; knowing he was in terrible trouble, but could not risk his younger siblings. He shook his head miserably and two large tears rolled down his cheeks. Scrag's moist breath was on the back of his neck; panting with eager glee. His oily fur brushed along Leo's quivering arms and legs. The arm around his throat eased back and Leo sucked in air.

"Now, you have to learn not to disobey me. Bad boys disobey. Bad boys get punished. Say: I'll be good, Daddy."

Leo whimpered.

He grabbed Leo's delicate flesh and twisted.

"AGH-" Leo shoved his knuckles into his mouth and bit them hard to stop his scream. He would not bring Mikey or Donnie into this. He had to protect them. Whatever it took. He would keep them safe.

"Say it. Say it,  _now_."

"I-I . . . I'll be . . . g-good, D-Daddy," he whispered between hitching breaths.

"Now that's better," Scrag growled and slid his hand around Leo's thigh and forced his legs apart. He felt something prodding him, and he clenched his eyes tightly closed; pressing his fists against his eyelids.

"Mph . . . mph . . . puh-please no," Leo pleaded into the mattress as he felt Scrag fumbling with his lower body.

"What . . . is . . ." Scrag mumbled as he investigated what was blocking his entrance.

Leo squeaked and scrambled forward as Scrag wrapped his claws around his tail; prying it back away from his body where it was tucked in tightly between his bottom's cheeks in fright. In a blind panic, Leo twisted and frantically kicked. With one hand, Scrag knocked his foot away; keeping a tight hold on the little stub of thick flesh that was Leo's tail with his other. He jerked it back viciously.

The sound of something snapping filled the air.

Leo screamed.

* * *

Mikey jumped in Donnie's arms where they lay snuggled on the mattress in the main area of their home. Both boys sat up and looked towards their dad's room. They exchanged glances. Fresh tears spilled down Mikey's cheeks. He dropped the bloody rag Donnie had gotten for his split lip and hugged Donnie.

"It's okay, Mikey," Donnie whispered to his little brother's head; keeping his rounded eyes staring at the blanket in the doorway of Scrag's room. His tongue went again to the small wound inside his mouth and wondered what kind of punishment their dad was giving Leo to make him scream like that. He blinked as the burning tears stung his eyes.

He rocked Mikey gently in his arms; trying his best to soothe his baby brother.

* * *

Raph jumped to his feet, blinking in the darkness; heart racing. 

_W_ _hat was that?_

All around him, the tunnels filled with the usual sounds of distant rumbling trains and whispering trails of water. He'd fallen asleep. But what woke him up?

He peered around rubbing the blurriness from his eyes. There was nothing. But he heard something. Something different. Something scary. He turned and huffed. He didn't want to be out here alone anymore. With a deep breath, he scurried forward into the passageway to their home.

Creeping cautiously into the main living space, Raph's amber eyes glowed in the darkness. He peered around. Everyone seemed to be asleep. He relaxed. Then tensed as he heard a sniffle.

He crept over to the mattress where he thought Leo and Donnie were sleeping as they always did. But to his surprise, it was Donnie and Mikey snuggled up tightly. He turned as he heard it again. As quietly as he could, he inched his way to the couch and peeked behind it.

There in the corner, on top of the mound of musty and dirty clothes, was his brother. Curled up on his side with his shell facing out, Leo sniffled quietly. 

 _H_ _e's crying._  

Tilting his head, Raph crept closer. Leo never cried. It was a mewling sound, so soft that if Raph had been asleep, he'd never had heard it. He climbed over the clothes and moved closer.

The crying sounds abruptly stopped and Leo's body froze.

"Leo, what's the matter?" Raph whispered and touched his arm.

Leo jumped as if he'd burned him and burrowed deeper into the corner with a hitched breath. Confused, Raph frowned. He looked down at the bug bites that itched and stung that covered his hands and arms. A shudder went through him. He bit his bottom lip and inched closer to Leo, wanting nothing more than to take some comfort in the presence of his older brother. He leaned the side of his body against Leo's shell; trying to snuggle closer. He was so tired; he just wanted to sleep; just wanted to feel safe.

Leo's body went rigid.

 _"Get away from me!"_  he hissed in a strained voice.

Blinking back his hurt, Raph shifted, feeling the rejection like a bitter stab. He rubbed one arm, the small gashes and bites stung. He realized that Leo had no idea what he'd just been through.

"B-But Leo . . . I . . . Dad . . . he threw me . . ." he struggled with voicing his trauma and shame. The imaginary feel of the roaches running all over him made him shiver. He didn't really want to talk about what happened to him. He remembered something he thought Leo would find interesting. "I saw that rat. The one you saw before. The gray one. He might be nice . . . He helped-"

_"I don't care!"_

_He said he doesn't care. He doesn't care what happened to me._

Raph's mouth hung open in disbelief. The sadness and hurt at his brother's insensitivity to his suffering was swiftly replaced with fury. It was just like Leo to not care about what happened to him. What did it matter to him when he was safe here at home with his brothers and dad while Raph was swimming in a sea of bugs and garbage? Trapped. Frightened that he'd never get out; that he'd die inside that crate.

He shoved the back of Leo's shell hard; making him bang against the bricks.

Leo rose up on his hands; twisting around to face Raph. His dark eyes glinted in the dark; looking like obsidian. "Leave me  _alone_!"

Raph pushed at him and Leo grabbed his arms. They bared their little fangs and started to wrestle and punch at each other. Grunting and growling softly; getting louder by the minute. They rolled off the clothes and landed in a heap on the hard ground. The impact caused Leo to crumple in pain. He moaned and whimpered and rolled to one side; holding his stomach and grimacing.

"I  _hate_  you!" Raph snarled, rubbing his cheek with the back of one hand where Leo had hit him.

Leo opened his eyes at the sound of Raph's shout then snapped them to Scrag's doorway. His face was a sudden mask of terror. Confused, but still angry, Raph noticed the fresh tears covering his brother's cheeks. Leo sat up and cringed like he was in pain but quickly brought his finger up to his mouth and shook it back and forth frantically.

"Shhh! Raph,  _shut up!_ " he hissed. His wide, glassy eyes darted from the door to Raph and back again.

Raph glared at him. "Why should I?"

"Please," Leo started to pant, his face grew paler by the second. If it hadn't been so dark, Raph would have seen Leo's body shaking. Leo's eyes were round glassy orbs in the darkness. It looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Y-You're gonna w-wake him up." Leo's voice took on a desperate note.

"Hmpf," Raph stood up. He crossed his arms over his chest. Pressing his mouth into a tight line, he didn't say anything else, but not because Leo had told him not to, but because he, too, didn't want to face his dad at the moment and risk being taken back to that crate.

After a minute of staring at each other, and realizing that Raph would finally be quiet, Leo dropped his gaze. He slid back with his hands and turned; crawling through the filthy pile of clothes to lay back where Raph had found him. On the other side, pressed into the corner; curled into a ball.

Raph glowered at his shell and moved to turn. As he did, his eyes fell on the spot where Leo had just been sitting. He blinked and crouched down. Raph reached out and with one fingertip traced it through the small pool of blood. In the darkness, it looked black, like ink. He held it up and stared at his finger in disbelief.

His mouth hung open and he looked from Leo to the puddle then back again. A thrill of fear raced up Raph's spine. They had wrestled, but he didn't do this to his brother. Where did this blood come from? Raph wiped his finger clean with a piece of clothing on the floor.

"Leo . . ."

"Go to sleep," Leo said softly.

"But, Leo . . ."

"Leave me alone," he said.

Raph turned and moved around the sofa. He stood there a minute; feeling alone; feeling scared and worried but not knowing of what or why. He turned his head to the mattress where Donnie and Mikey lay. As carefully as he could, so not to wake them, he squeezed between the wall and where Mikey lay.

His hand bumped something under a pillow. His fingers curled around something round and soft. He pulled out his hand and the smell of bread filled his senses. His stomach rumbled and he remembered how hungry he'd been. Closing his eyes, he bit into the rounded piece, chewed and swallowed until it was all gone. With a sigh of satisfaction he wrapped his arm around Mikey, feeling Donnie's arm next to him.

For the first time since he'd gotten back from his scavenging run with Leo, Raph felt safe. But a flicker of worry tickled the back of his mind. He didn't understand what he was worried about, so he ignored it. Before long he was fast asleep; oblivious to the soft, broken sobs that rose up from the corner of the room behind the couch.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still alive? Barely breathing? Cuz I'm breathless after writing this - okay bring the reviews, people. I need some love after this.


	9. Darkness Without, Darkness Within

_"I run and run as the rains come_

_And I look up . . . I look up -_

_on my knees and out of luck_

_I look up._

_…_

_-and there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears."_  – _After the Storm,_  Mumford and Sons

* * *

 

**_3 years later_ **

Time passed, but Yoshi did not forget about the little turtle children he'd run into in the tunnels. But he had not sought after them for fear of scaring them. His own self-doubt and loathing keeping him from pursuing what his heart urged him to do. Despite that, his mind often centered itself on their well-being and survival; wondering what they were doing, how they were managing to subsist in the dank underground world.

Sometimes he'd stop what he was doing, as an intense fear for their safety would come over him; freezing himself in his tracks; whiskers twitching in the silence of his home. A desperate sense of urgency to find them would tense the muscles in his legs. A mad feeling of panic would sweep through him. As if he were picking up on their own desperate fright and pain; howling in the vast spiritual plane existing just beyond his senses.

But he'd pull away from it; break from the trance; shake the feeling away; convincing himself that it was merely his own loneliness and desperate need for company that gave life to such vivid imaginings. Nothing more.

He had hoped to run into them again and had prepared what he'd say to hopefully convince the little ones that he meant them no harm. He'd gone as far as making two side rooms in his den ready for the young guests, even pulling two twin mattresses that he'd scavenged from the alleys above in the event that they'd want to spend a night or even stay . . . but he got ahead of himself. For just as they appeared that one afternoon, they seemed to vanish in the labyrinth of tunnels below the city.

Weeks turned to months and months somehow morphed into years. Hope of ever seeing them again waned.

Depression and his own struggles with survival took over.

* * *

Spring brought damp, chilled weather and torrential rain down upon New York City. While scavenging for supplies, Yoshi had been caught in a downpour. The next night, a rattling cough had settled in his chest. Persistent and painful, the cold that he'd developed in his chest kept him confined to his lair for over three months. Spring changed to summer as Yoshi battled against the stubborn virus that continued to set him back every time he thought he was finally recovering.

For days he drifted in and out of a feverish state. Too weak to even move from his bed to fetch food from his store in the kitchen or to reach the sink to drink. The thin mattress was soaked through with his perspiration. He lay, panting his shallow breaths, dimly thinking it was the end of him. Welcoming it.

Yoshi opened his burning, watering eyes as he felt the edge of his cot shift with the weight of someone sitting beside him. Too exhausted and ill to feel anything other than mild, dull curiosity, he turned his face towards the room. His head spun with the movement. He blinked slowly but was unable to clear his blurred vision. A woman sat on the edge of his bed. One hand pressed against his chest. Licking his lips he tried to speak but his voice was only a rasp of breath.

She leaned close to him and pressed her cheek to his. The scent of water lilies and spring grass filled him. Her long black locks fell over one shoulder and brushed his face. With a shaking hand, Yoshi reached up and felt the silken strands of her hair between his fingers. A moan slipped from him as tears rolled down his face, streaking the fur. 

_How could this be? I am surely dying._

Her voice was as gentle and soft as he remembered it with painful clarity. "Yoshi, you must get up."

He shook his head and leaned his face into the soft curve of her cheek. The effort of these small movements cost him.

"Too . . . weak," he breathed.

Besides that he was ready. Ready to be taken away, reunited with his love, ready to make amends and try again to be better in the next life. He'd endured this punishment all these years, tempted to, but never taking his life, accepting the years of isolation and loneliness as part and parcel to his fate.

"You must get up. You must drink."

Yoshi shook his head. He was ready to leave this world. Ready to have his wife take him to the next existence where he knew he would do better. A painful burst of coughing seized him. His chest exploded in sharp stabbing streaks of agony. His body shook as he fell to one side and his eyes rolled up into his head but Tang Shen held him; gently, firmly, in her arms; cradling him against her breasts. Yoshi's coughing fit subsided. A moan rose up from him and broke into a small whimper. His bloodshot eyes cracked open. He stared up into her lovely dark eyes.

"Take me . . . with you," he whispered.

Shen shook her head; eyes full of gentleness. "The children need you."

Yoshi frowned and blinked; not understanding what she meant. He managed to raise his head a little. "The . . . children?"

"They suffer. They need someone to protect them. To save them. To guide them."

Yoshi stared into her eyes; so real; so very real. The image of the little turtles popped into his mind. He leaned against one hand pressed down into the mattress. He blinked; staring through Tang Shen into his room as she began to fade.

"They need a father," her voice slipped away as the image vanished.

The scent of water lilies and spring grass remained. He blinked rapidly and more tears slipped free. It seemed fate was not quite done with him as yet.

With a shuddering heave, Yoshi struggled to move his legs to the side of his bed, then placing his feet onto the cold floor, he fought to rise. His legs quaked as he stumbled through his room into the kitchen to the sink. With trembling hands he twisted the water on. The pipes rattled and the water flowed from the faucet in a glittering stream. Then turning his head to the side, he lapped the streaming water desperately; letting the cool liquid flow through his mouth over his lips and down his parched throat. When satiated he slid down to the floor; wrapping his arms around his knees.

_The children. I have to find them._

* * *

Two brothers raced through the junk yard. The youngest, thinner now than before and faster than ever raced ahead; laughing. He clambered up a pile of tires and leap-frogged over a rusted washing machine.

Just behind him, his brother, Raph, followed; one eye swollen shut from the blow he'd endured earlier that morning when he wasn't fast enough with bringing his dad his breakfast. His face was a mask of concentration. He wanted to beat his little brother to the finish line. He couldn't let him win, not again. But the raised spot where Donnie and Leo were loading their bags with the piles of dented cans of food they'd found loomed ahead.

"Woo hoo-hoo-hoo!" Mikey hollered as he used the back of Donnie's shell as a bouncing board.

"Hey! Ugh!" Don cried as he was shoved forward, a can of green beans gripped in one hand. A fit of coughing made him double up. As he did, Mikey pressed one foot against his carapace; jumping off it and spinning around just as an out-of-breath Raph caught up.

Mikey straightened up. "Beat ya, Raphie.  _Ahgain_!" he taunted.

Raph moved in a circle, swearing under his breath. At ten years old, he had a vocabulary that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush. Unfortunately, Mikey was learning everything he knew from the rough young turtle. He gave Mikey the finger and Mikey stuck his tongue out at him. He braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Ass-licker."

"Monkey-ball-chomper."

Raph tried not to laugh. His uninjured eye twinkled. He kept a serious face as he replied, "Fuck-tard-o."

Mikey burst out laughing. His impish looks only furthered by the freckles and dimples in his cheeks that remained rounded despite being thin from lack of food. "Is that like a fuck-na-do?"

Raph tried to hold it in, but the chuckle burst from between his lips. He turned away from his brother and squatted near his bag filled with cans and a blanket that was in good shape along with some rope and utensils he'd found. He glanced around and quickly slid the treasure he'd found out of the kangaroo pocket in the front of his red sweatshirt.

It was a six inch folded knife with a cork screw, a screwdriver and a few broken metal parts. But, much to his delight and excitement, the important part was intact. The sharp blade hidden within the black handle snapped up when he pulled on it with finger and thumb. The silver blade gleamed sharp and solid in his palm. Lightning flashed and the blade caught the light with a wicked flash. He ducked and looking around to make sure none of his brothers noticed the flash, folded it back and stuck it into his pocket.

Just having it close made him feel safer. Protected.

Satisfied that he finally made his grumpy brother laugh, Mikey climbed up to stand on the hood of a half-buried pick-up truck. He gazed around the desolate heaps of garbage surrounding them. Not a bad human in sight. Just over the ridge, he could make out the roof of the guard's house. Mikey knew the guard dogs were usually chained up just behind the house, but were set loose upon nightfall. He looked up.

The gray skies were growing darker. A flash of lightning cut horizontally through the clouds.

"Eep," he said.

He never liked thunderstorms. They made the universe sound pissed. He stuck his hands into the pockets of the ripped jeans he wore, the knees obliterated almost to the point of the jeans being shorts. His electric blue sweatshirt that matched his eyes bunched around his middle as he shrugged and whistled up at the gathering, billowing clouds.

Leo counted the cans in his bag, ignoring the antics of his younger siblings. Fourteen. Eight cans of beans, four cans of carrots and two cans of precious spam. They almost never found meat. That should make their dad very happy, he thought. A shadow passed over his face and he swallowed, feeling the familiar nauseous fear in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of Scrag. Delicately, he shifted how he crouched to a more comfortable position.

He looked up at Don who was silently examining his own contents, lips moving as he silently talked to himself. Only stopping to cough.

The fact that Donnie was sick again was nothing new. His poor brother seemed to be sick three weeks out of every month. The dark purple bruising around the front of his throat stood out in the dim light. Leo's own throat ached at the sight. The toilet had broken a week ago and Donnie had tried to fix it, only he didn't have the right tools and couldn't. When he'd tried to explain what he needed, Scrag took it for complaining and punished Donnie for complaining and for being stupid. Raph was out scavenging alone and Leo was thankful for that.

Scrag had only released Donnie after he had passed out then turned on Mikey who'd been screaming at the top of his lungs for him to stop. The distractions Mikey used only seemed to work half the time now that he was older. Scrag no longer found playing cruel games with Mikey as entertaining as it used to be. Most of the time, Mikey only hollered and screamed when their dad's attacks became too violent.

When Scrag turned his glittering eye on Mikey, and Leo felt the intensity in the room shift to that slick, sickening feeling that he knew too well, Leo had stepped between them, knowing what he'd get for this interference. That was the first time Scrag had used the pipe on him. He had screamed so much, Scrag had sent Mikey and Donnie out through the tunnels to the garbage dump until he was finished with him.

"I think we have enough. It's getting dark. They're gonna let the dogs out soon. We should go."

Don stared at him with blank brown eyes. Finally, he nodded then straightened the gray hoodie he was wearing, pulling the hood up over his head as the rain began to fall in fat spattering drops.

"Feels like it's been raining forever," Raph complained as he pulled the red hood up over his own head.

The bruises on the side of his face near the swollen eye looked painful in the glowing gray twilight. Leo sighed. Not for the first time, he wished there was somewhere else they could go. Somewhere to hide from Scrag. Somewhere far away and safe. A shiver went through him as a clap of thunder rolled through the sky like an angry god reading his thoughts.

If he ever found them, though . . . Leo's face shot to Mikey then roved over to Raph and Donnie. Scrag's threats whispered into his ears during the times he spent in his room came back to him. If he ever told them, if they ever found out, if they ever tried to leave, Scrag had promised that he'd do the same and worse to his brothers while he watched. Then he'd kill them for betraying him.

_Rip their throats out while I'm fucking them. Do you understand me, son? Do you?!_

Leo felt dizzy. He raised a shaking hand to his suddenly pounding head and grimaced. Lightning flashed again. The rain came down harder. Mikey spun in a circle, on the hood of the truck, arms held out; head back; tongue sticking out from his open mouth.

"You're gonna catch a disease doing that," Raph said.

"Mm, tastes good to me," Mikey said, grinning.

"That's cuz you'd eat anything, doofus."

Donnie shook his head, silently disagreeing with Raph's assertion that Mikey would get sick from drinking the rain. It was much cleaner than the liquid that came brown and sometimes thick from the spigot in their home.

Leo moved to stand when he noticed the books tucked in between the cans in his brother's bag. Donnie zippered the bag quickly as Leo opened his mouth to ask. Out of the four of them, only Don could read. Leo had wanted to learn, but they only got as far as learning some of the alphabet before their dad ended any further endeavors to learn. He wanted to ask what the books were, but before he could Don stood up and started back towards the tunnel entrance; head down; lost in his thoughts as he always seemed to be. A dog started to bark, joined by the sound of another, this one much closer.

Raph twisted around, looking around the mounds of debris. "Shit."

"Time to go, bros!" Mikey shouted. He jumped lightly down and grabbed the strap of his bag and threw it onto his back. He took off after his much taller brother down the side of the hill of garbage.

The rain fell harder. Leo hoisted his bag over one shoulder and half-climbed, half-slid down the side of the mound of garbage they'd been standing on. With a grunt he landed, but his legs were sore and weakened from the night before. They folded underneath him and his bottom hit the ground, the impact sending a flash of pain through the center of him.

With a gasp, he crumpled. A small whimper escaped from his throat as he curled into a near fetal position on his hands and knees.

Last night had been particularly rough. Since Scrag's legs had been bothering him too much to leave their home, he'd been especially bored. Leo provided necessary distraction and entertainment. Scrag had come for him in the middle of the night; shaking him awake and leading Leo past his sleeping brothers into his room.

. . .

 _S_ crag paused his movements and raised his hand off the back of Leo's head. Leo lifted his head a few inches as he struggled to catch his breath. Tear tracks gleamed on the sides of his cheeks. Scrag had been pressing his face down into the mattress, suffocating him as he took him.

In a way, Leo had been thankful. His greatest fear was that one of his brothers would awaken and find him, like this, under their dad. Fear of that terrible humiliation drove him to try different ways of keeping quiet; even wadding up the blankets and biting down on them to muffle his cries of pain.

Scrag's fingers tightened around the back of Leo's neck pushing his face back down; pinning him. "How about a game, son?"

Chest tight, Leo couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. But it didn't matter. No answer was the right answer, he'd learned.

"If you can keep completely silent . . . I'll let you go," Scrag murmured into his ear. He lapped his tongue alongside Leo's cheek as he thrust roughly into the eleven-year-old. Leo squirmed; grinding his teeth together, but the pained whimpering noise rose from his throat on its own again and again. Fresh tears of frustration and pain coursed down his cheeks.

"Too bad. You lose. Since I won . . . we're going to do something else."

Scrag pulled away from him; slid off of him. Leo gripped the balled up sheets in his fist and rose up onto his hands and knees. Hoping to slip away, he moved to stand with trembling, watery legs when Scrag's voice froze him in place.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you, yet."

Leo looked over his shoulder and paled as he saw the pipe in his dad's hand. He began to shake.

"mmmphno-o," he whimpered and chest rising and falling rapidly, began to sob.

Scrag moved closer and smiled.

. . .

A tremor shook Leo's body with the memory of the pipe coming down onto him; hitting the backs of his thighs until his legs folded and Leo collapsed and then . . . Leo whimpered, fighting back a sob and pressed his fists into his eyes. Going to the surface had been nearly too painful for him to manage. But he'd rather face the rippling spasms of pain that tore through him than be left alone at home with their dad again.

Raph was next to him in a second. He reached out to touch his brother, but pulled away at the last second, remembering how his older brother never liked anyone to touch him or be too close. He bit his lip, frustrated and irritated at Leo being so hard to deal with.

"You okay?"

Leo stared at the ground in front of him, panting lightly through gritted teeth; trying to get himself under control. He tried to push away the pain, the humiliation, the fear. The rain drummed down on them, soaking their shirts until Leo's stuck to the back of his shell like a heavy rag. He closed his eyes and imagined the rain washing some of the filth off his body.

Raph watched him with a worried frown.

Finally, Leo swallowed and nodded. He braced himself with his palms pressed into the muddy ground. He raised up a little and flinched as his bottom hit his heels.

"Y-Yeah. Just . . . h-hit the ground funny." Leo forced a chuckle out from his clenched jaw, trying to convince his brother he was fine and felt stupid for falling like that.

Raph stared at him, unconvinced and only worried more.

"What's hurtin' you, Leo?" he asked.

The question made panic race through Leo's veins like wild horses stampeding. He looked up, blinking into the cool rain; up into the one good eye of his brother; staring down at him, through him; gleaming gold in the dusky light like hope and fear and desperate sadness. His own stormy eyes holding so much pain and so many secrets grew round and glassy with terror. Raph's frown deepened into a lopsided scowl beneath his hood.

"N-Nothin's h-hurtin'. . . me," he said breathlessly in a wavering voice.

"It's Dad, isn't it."

Leo froze; mouth hanging open. He started to shake. "Wh-Wha . . .?"

The barking dogs suddenly sounded just over the mound next to them. Raph's face snapped around. Donnie and Mikey were already through the opening in the chain-linked fence. Raph huffed, turning back to Leo; wanting to press him for the truth; wanting to at least help him up. But not wanting another fight, he turned away. He reached down to offer his hand, but changed his mind again. Instead, he grabbed the bag that had fallen from his brother and hoisted it over his other shoulder.

"Uh, Raph, you don't have to-"

"I got it, Leo, c'mon."

He turned and hoofed it to the fence. Leo moved stiffly behind him, limping as quickly as his pain-filled body allowed.

Behind him the dogs snarled and brayed and howled into the rainy night.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Don't kill me for the time passage. Poor sweethearts still in his clutches. But we're getting closer to salvation or damnation depending where you stand. Please review! I'm goin' crazy over here!


	10. Grasping at Raindrops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yajuu = Beast   
> Kodomo = child

_"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."_  –Lucius Annaeus Seneca

 

_"And I have sins, Lord, but not today,_

_cause they're gonna wash away, they're gonna wash away."_  –Joe Purdy,  _Wash Away_

 

* * *

 

"Dad, we're back!" Mikey called as Raph and Don set their bags down and began to pull the cans out and set them on the floor for Scrag to examine. Leo entered last, moving into the home like a wraith. Scrag slid the blanket in his doorway to one side and limped out into the room on his stiff legs.

"We got a lot of great stuff," Mikey beamed and Raph huffed at the attention hog, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. His fingers felt along the cool, smooth surface of the handle of his treasure. He glanced up and saw Scrag watching him, curiously, the end of his nose twitching; the white blind eye tearing as it always did. Raph shrunk back, his swollen eye throbbed painfully as he remembered the blow his dad had given him that morning. Inside his pocket he gripped the handled of the knife until his knuckles turned white. He bumped into Leo and his brother grimaced in pain.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

As he moved closer to inspect the haul, Donnie grabbed the straps of his bag and clutching it to himself, made a circuitous route around the back of his brothers around the room to the back of the couch. Once hidden behind, in the only spot in their home that he ever felt safe, he quickly pulled the text books out from his bag and began to shove them under the couch. There was a shift in the air and Scrag loomed suddenly above him as he struggled to fit one particularly thick book under the space.

"What is this?"

Donnie froze. His face shot up.

"What are you hiding there?"

Scrag lumbered around the side of the couch and came to stand before him. Donnie quailed and ducked his head.

Scrag crouched down and yanked the book from the young turtle's hands. His tattered ears twitched as he focused on the title. His eyes narrowed as he read it aloud. "Bi-ology . . ." Scrag tilted his head and looked from the cover of the book to Donnie who sat with his head tucked down, brown eyes staring up at him. "Books? You bring me  _books_? Bad human things instead of food?"

He flipped through the pages and saw illustrations of animals, plant life and the diagrams of dissected bodies in the back. His black eye glittered as he remembered the Not Men and their labs. The things they did as he watched from his cage so long ago. Scrag felt a tickle in the back of his mind; an idea formed for a new game to play; a delicious twist in his stomach as he slowly brought his gaze to the skinny turtle-boy kneeling in front of him. Raph, Mikey and Leo coming in the rear all stood, gathered behind their dad, watching the scene curiously as the room filled with tension.

"Not just those, he got us some food, too," Raph said. Scrag straightened up and looked at him. "Right there," he pointed behind him. "So what if he got some of those stupid books, too. I got some rope and a blanket and some spoons."

" _Spoons_? You're as stupid as you are ugly," Scrag snarled at him.

Raph ducked his head and stared at the couch, feeling his face burn with humiliation. The throbbing pain of his swollen eye aided him in keeping his mouth shut. He gripped the knife tighter.

Scrag twisted back to Don and flung the heavy book at his face. The soft cover splayed open and several pages tore as they struck him. With shaking hands Don gathered up the book and hugged it against his chest.

"Useless . . ." Scrag snarled.

"H-He found some meat," Leo offered in a weak voice. This got Scrag's attention.

"Meat? Let me see," he said eagerly.

Leo moved as quickly as he could, ignoring the spears of fiery pain as it shot through him. He dug into his own bag and pulled out the two rusted cans of spam. Leo held them up.

Scrag hadn't moved. He hadn't bought the lie, either. "Why are they in  _your_  bag, son?"

"Uh, um, h-he . . . my bag?" Leo faltered, ever solid with keeping secrets, but never any good at lying.

Scrag nodded slowly. Enough of this. It was time to play. He turned back to Donnie. "Get up."

Donnie paled where he sat on his heels still clutching the book to his chest.

Raph and Mikey exchanged fearful glances.

"Get. Up."

Don set the book down in front of him and stood up on shaking legs. One trembling hand went reflexively to his bruised throat.

"We're going out, boys," Scrag told the room in general while staring down at Don. "Stay here and put away the food, then wait for us to come back. No one eats anything until I get back, understood?"

Raph frowned and Mikey spoke up. A desperate note rang in his tone. "Where are you going? Can I come to?"

Scrag shook his head and a wicked grin spread over his face as he led Don towards the back passageway, one hand going to Donnie's shoulder to usher him along. He leaned down and spoke close to Donnie's cheek, "What do you think, son? Should we bring little Mikey along? Would you like that?"

Donnie's wide eyes shot over his shoulder to Mikey standing next to Raph then back up to Scrag. He shook his head in sharp short movements. Then he dropped his eyes and moved towards the tunnel.

To Mikey, Scrag said, "Not this time." To Donnie he said, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Don lowered his head then, shoulders slumping in defeat; moving like he was walking through a dream, he crossed the room. He ducked behind the couch and retrieved his rusted tool box. He wrapped one arm over the top, the other cradled the large box beneath. Don moved past his brothers without making eye contact; gaze glued to the ground. As he moved into the tunnel, though, he shot one pleading look in Leo's direction. Their eyes met; blue and brown; sadness and fear; before Don was shoved forward into the passageway.

A terrible sense that somehow Donnie knew what was happening between him and their dad struck Leo. A tremor swept through him. But there was no way. He never told anyone. He'd been quiet and no one ever saw. Because, if they did . . . Scrag had warned him what would happen if he told.

His eyes darted from Raph to Mikey who looked at him expectantly before they fell away. He felt it as they silently continued to stare at him; felt their unspoken demands that he do something. His heart began to pound painfully in his chest. What did they want from him? He couldn't stop their dad from punishing Donnie. There was nothing more he could do to protect them. He was . . . already giving  _everything_  he could. Everything.

Suddenly, his eyes welled up and he sat on the floor where he stood, cradling his forehead against his wrists. Hot tears spilled from his clenched eyes.

* * *

Yoshi moved through the tunnels, listening, only stopping to sniff at the air and close his eyes.

There it was again. He paused. The hammering drumbeat of his heart distracting him as he tried to tune it out. Yoshi shifted the small pack of food he'd packed on his shoulder to a more comfortable spot on his back. He stood perfectly still, focusing internally. His rounded ears pivoted and turned; the only part of his body that made any outward sign of movement.

He'd been looking for days and had spent all that morning searching; beating back his frustrations at finding no sign of them; concentrating on the task at hand, moving forward. He was determined to find them or at least a sign of where they'd been. It was at a bend in the sloping passageway that he'd felt it. A shiver, a touch in the back of his mind, a caress of distress, a flash of sharp pain that did not belong to him caught his attention. And now, following the ethereal compass he hardly understood, he moved forward through the dark and dim tunnels, towards the source of bitter suffering he was sensing.

* * *

Donnie held still as his dad roughly ripped the shirt from him and pulled the torn sweatpants down over his hips. Numbly, he stepped out of the pant legs and stood, naked and shivering in the dimly lit tunnel. Moving in a daze, he laid down on the large metal grate without protesting; even as his dad tightened the belts around his throat and spread his arms and legs out and strapped them down to the grate as well. He only blinked and swallowed dryly; fighting the urge to cough; terror turning his blood to ice in his veins, but he complied with his dad's every instruction.

He always did as he was told. Always. He didn't fight like Raph, didn't shout or try to be playful like Mikey. He tried to be like Leo. Obedient and good. Though he knew he was useless and stupid. A burden his dad had to tolerate.

So he did his best when his father woke him in the middle of the night and brought him into his room. Or when the others went out scavenging and he was left alone with him. He never cried out as Scrag instructed him not to, enduring the terrible pain in complete silence, broken only by his muffled coughing that he forced down into the mattress. And when he had to use his mouth, he tried his best not to gag or choke. It was always so hard not to when the tight, itchy, painful urge to cough burned in his chest and throat. But he did his best.

He had to make up for being so useless and stupid.

"So. You want to be like the bad humans," Scrag said as he picked through Don's tool box. He knelt on the ground with the box next to him. Scrag hmm'd as he rummaged. "I told you humans were all bad. They would do terrible things to you if you got caught. But still you want to be like them. You want to  _read_  their  _books_ ," he said disgustedly. "This game will teach you what humans do to little turtle boys when they catch you."

"D-Dad," Donnie licked his dry lips trying to offer his apologies and gain forgiveness. "I-I'm sorry. You don't h-have to . . . do this. I . . . won't read those books anymore," Donnie spoke in a soft voice laced with fright. "Please,  _cugh, cugh,_  Daddy. D-Don't hurt-"

"Shh, if you keep talking," Scrag held up a shorter belt and produced a rubber ball with a missing chunk in one side, Donnie's eyes followed the movement. He leaned over the nine-year-old and brought the ball up to his mouth. Donnie's bottom lip trembled as he pressed his mouth closed. "I will gag you. Like last time when you wouldn't stop that wretched coughing. So be a good boy and keep still." Scrag patted his chest, his voice dripping in dark humor, "And don't make a sound. Can you do that? Do you understand, little dim-wit?"

It was hard with the belt around his neck, but Donnie managed to nod. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. He would obey and be good. He would show him that he was worth keeping and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't hurt him too badly.

But as Scrag wedged the long, flat screwdriver between his shell and back just above his hip until it hit the join between shell and backbone he started to tremble. When he felt the metal bite into his flesh and the electric pain lash through him, he couldn't help but cry out. The pain was too much. Tears welled and slipped down his cheeks, painting fresh green stripes down his filthy face. He began to tremble harder as he felt the warm blood trickle then flow along his side; filling the crevice between his body and shell. His dad was saying something but he couldn't hear it. There was a rushing sound filling his ears and the pounding of his heart in his throat made it hard to breathe. He felt his dad pull the screwdriver out then move it up higher. The hammer made a tap-tapping sound as it drove deeper into his side now just under his arm pit.

"Mpfh, ow-mph, omph,  _cugh, cugh,_ " Donnie whimpered and cried and coughed as Scrag scurried around him and started on the other side. But he paused then moved slowly around stopping between his splayed legs. Donnie's mind focused sharply as a wave of fresh fear washed through him drowning out the pain temporarily.

"…and they wouldn't stop with removing your shell, Donnie-boy. Oh no. They'd want to pry every piece of you apart." He paused and spoke each word slowly, "Every tender little piece."

He licked his lips, savoring the waves of utter fear coming off the little turtle. This was going to be delicious, he thought, feeling his arousal grow to a painful level as he brought the bloody tip of the screwdriver to the small fold just beneath the inverted 'v' shape of the bottom of his plastron. As Scrag carefully positioned the hammer, Donnie's eyes turned into glassy circles of panic.

Helpless and terrified, they rolled up into his head as he braced for what was about to happen. He began to shake so hard the back of his shell made a loud staccato noise against the metal grate.

_"Get away from him!"_

Scrag jumped at the shout and dropped the screwdriver and hammer. They clattered against the tunnel floor and rolled to one side. Scrag's head whipped around seeking the source of the furious voice. He hissed as a shadow emerged from a side tunnel and took the form of a large gray rat in a red and gold patterned robe. The fury in those amber eyes flashed gold so deep it sparked crimson in the gloom. An overwhelming lance of fear went through him at the sight. He hadn't felt this fear since he was trapped in the cages in the Not Men's lab. When the cold hands would reach in and squeeze at him until they grabbed him and pulled him out from the corner of the cage where he quailed in terror.

Scrag quickly unstrapped Donnie and pulled him tightly to his chest. He backed away, tail lashing; dragging the little turtle's bleeding body with him; knocking cans and garbage to each side.

" _Yajuu_ , release the boy!"

Scrag paused, head tilted, considering the gray rat's stance, listening with his double senses and only feeling danger and menace radiating from him. He had to escape! The gray took another step towards him and Scrag snarled and growled. He spun, throwing Donnie towards the center of the tunnel where the rains of the surface had swollen the tame, lazy water into a rushing torrent of foaming storm run-off.

 _"Take him!"_  Scrag shrieked.

Yoshi leapt forward, catching the small turtle's body with the crook of one arm. Scrag reared back and with a final hiss dashed into the tunnel.

Yoshi turned the bleeding, shaking boy over in his arms. He moved limply, like a rag doll, barely standing. With wide eyes, he searched the small body over, taking note of the injuries; the ones that bled bright and fresh and the ones that were revealed only by the deep purple markings and yellowish bruising.

"Kodomo," he murmured sadly. Yoshi looked into the tunnel where the black rat had fled. He turned his gaze back to the shivering boy in his arms. He shook his head and spoke slowly in English, "The others. Y-Your brothers, are they…"

Yoshi closed his mouth as he stared into the pain-filled distant eyes. Eyes that saw nothing. He wasn't sure if the poor child could even understand him and after what he'd only had a glimpse of, was sure the boy was traumatized from the horrific treatment he was being subjected to. With a small squeeze on the boy's shoulder, Yoshi eased him down to sit.

Quickly, he shrugged off his robe and draped it over the shuddering turtle's shell and shoulders. "Stay here. I will return." Gently, he moved around the little turtle and took off in pursuit of the black rat as fast as he could.

* * *

Donnie sat, trembling; feeling the burning, aching pain where the screwdriver had bitten into his flesh. The strange, hot feeling of his blood trickling from the wounds. The fear of what Scrag was about to do to him was nothing but a numb impression settling over his spirit. His chest and throat hurt. His body ached in several different places; his bottom never seemed to stop hurting.

 _"cugh, cugh, cugh,"_  he coughed. The motion made the splinters of sharp pain streak through him and he cringed. Fresh tears spilled down his face; tickling him.

He glanced into the tunnel where his dad and the other rat had gone. He was all alone. Slowly, he slipped the silken robe from his shoulders and eased himself to the edge of the drop off until his small feet hung over the side. A wavering trail of crimson blood traced his movement. He stared into the rushing brown water below as he sat, hugging his sides with shivering arms. The water was deep and sloshed by powerfully. The current made a rushing, whispering sound that both soothed and frightened him.

His eyes wandered over the frothing surface down the tunnel to the large opening of the drain and wondered idly where it might lead. It didn't matter, he wasn't a good swimmer, not like Mikey. He could never hold his breath too long because of the coughing. As if on cue, another fit of coughing hit him. As it passed, he blinked his bleary eyes.

His dad hated him. No matter what he did, how well he performed or obeyed, it wasn't good enough. His dad was right. Two large tears welled and broke free. He sniffled but did nothing to wipe them away.

"I'm useless and stupid," he said quietly; voice drowned out by the crashing flow just beneath his toes.

With that, he scooted closer to the edge and slipped off. His little body only made the smallest of splashes as it hit the surface and was quickly dragged under by the speeding current.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I killing you?? XD Big surprise awaits in the next chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	11. Proof of Dreams and Nightmares

_"_ _One word_

_Frees us of all the weight and pain of life;_

_That word is_ _ **love**_ _."_ **-** Sophocles

 

* * *

Yoshi ran, as fast as he could, tuning every sense he could towards tracking the scent of the beast that was attacking the helpless child. Bare feet slapped the rough ground. Claws clacked against the brittle cement. Tail lashed back in forth in perfect rhythm to his strides. Breath coming in measured bursts. Eyes burning with seething rage. Walking stick clutched tightly in one hand. So tight, knuckles white.

He blocked the memory of what he'd seen only moments ago, blocked the images of the little turtle child writhing in pain . . . strapped down . . . that monster between his legs. The blood so vivid in the dim light like a nightmare. Bright red like anguish manifested. Those empty eyes; twin pools of pain and helplessness.  _What has he been doing to you? And what of the others?_  A violent shudder ripped through him as his fur bristled. He ran faster; pumping his legs hard.

He could not allow himself to lose track of the black rat. Not after what he'd seen. He had to find his lair and rescue the others. He could not fail in this. For Yoshi knew of evil and all it was capable of. Foolishly, he never imagined in the dank solace and forgotten isolation of this underground world, an immense evil such as this would ever present itself. But wherever man existed, it seemed evil could take root and flourish, feeding off the innocent.

He clenched his jaw. Well, he would put an end to it.

That was surely the reason fate had placed him in this god-forsaken place, in this twisted form. Had he not been mutated he would have never been here to save these children. He swallowed back the foaming saliva in his mouth and pushed onward. He caught the distinct sound of skittering feet ahead; panicked gasping breath; the acrid scent of musk and fear grew stronger; a fleeting shadow crawled along the bricks of the tunnel walls. He was closing in.

* * *

Donnie felt the surging water dragging his body through the tunnels by his feet. It was cold. Icy as it rippled over his skin. His arms trailed along above his head, boneless and limp. Eyes clenched tightly, cheeks round with the breath he held. But his chest burned with the need to breathe. Itched with the awful need to cough. The sound of his thundering heartbeat pounded in his ears. His back where it connected to his shell stung from the punctured cuts his dad had given him with the screwdriver. The back of his head bounced off the rough bottom and something metal dragged alongside his right arm. He felt it cut into his flesh and grimaced.

He felt his body rise and then plummet. The sensation made him open his mouth and gasp. Brown water flooded into him causing him to sputter and choke only leading him to suck in more of the rainwater and street run-off. He was spinning and being twisted around by the force of the current. Light blinded him, as he was forced up to the surface of the water. He gasped for air, then darkness surrounded him as he was dragged back under by the current; only to repeat the pattern several more times.

The side of his head banged into a solid surface as his body was thrown out of the opening of a large storm drain. He slammed against the side of the ground as the rushing water pulled at his legs. Desperately, his fingers clung to a tangled section of exposed roots of a weeping willow. Choking and gagging, Donnie crawled forward over the roots; grasping at the sodden grass and mud with his fingers.

Head spinning, he pulled himself out of the chilled water with shaking arms. The world around him tilted and danced. The dizziness was too much. He vomited and rolled to one side, face cradled in a mound of soft clover and weeds.

He cracked open his eyes to find a canopy of leaves over his head. He was outside; above; beneath a row of bushes, overgrown with weeds. His eyes rolled up into his head as he passed out.

* * *

"I'm going down to the water, Dad," she called over her shoulder already heading in that direction. Her red pony-tail flicked back and forth as she bounced along, dark purple backpack jumbling.

Her father turned his head and reached out for her where he sat on the park bench then waved her on dismissively. Several kids ran past him, screaming as they played a game of tag.

"Ah, okay. Just . . . not too far. April, you hear me?" He called after her, "Stay where I can see you."

Mr. O'Neil sighed, wishing his adventurous daughter would just stay put and play on the playground equipment like the rest of the normal eight-year-old girls did. Worried, he watched the top of her head disappear over the grassy hill. So much for staying where he could see her. He ground his teeth together. He moved to stand but the voice on the phone made him freeze. He turned his attention back to the cell phone pressed against his ear and sat back down.

"What? N-No Baxter, I'm here. Yes, I was listening. And I understand. I'm just worried. This merger," he shook his head, "It could mean we lose our jobs at TCRI. What? No, I don't know a lot about the Oroku Corporation. No, I don't know if they support research and development. Yes, I know. I know, but that's beside the point." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as Baxter babbled on.

April shook her head and chuckled at her father's needless worry. She skipped down the sloping edge of the small grassy hill leading towards the trickling stream that fed the pond in the center of the park. This was one of her favorite things to do with her father. He worked all the time, so when he had a Saturday afternoon more or less free, they'd come here. It was close by their home and April loved having picnics with him in the grass or flying her home-made dragon kite on blustery days.

But today was different. Today was all business for Miss O'Neil. She was determined.

When she awoke that morning and remembered today was her father's free day, she leapt out of bed filled with excitement. The fairy tale book that she'd read until she'd fallen asleep had slipped to the floor. The most recent story she'd discovered and read was now her new favorite. The Frog Prince. And since reading it last night, she'd made up her mind. She would find a frog that was really a prince in disguise, finally proving to herself that magical and wondrous things did actually exist in the world.

April knew that a lot of girls her age were already sitting around talking about clothes and shopping and boys on the playground at school, while she was busy imagining adventures. Exploring the edges of the school's playground as though it were a vast hidden temple full of treasures and dangers. Every day she'd go a little further until the lunch mom would finally have to go and bring her back.

She also knew from experience that it was better not to try to convince the girls or boys in her class that it was much more fun to draw shapes in the clouds drifting by than sitting around talking about stupid stuff. Believing in magic and secret worlds and heroes was for babies. But April believed. In her deepest heart she knew there was more to this world than what was on reality shows, in malls and in the bland, bored faces of the kids and adults that surrounded her. There just had to be.

She'd show them. Today she would find a cursed prince and set him free. Even if that meant kissing him. April puffed up her chest. She wasn't afraid to kiss any frog if it meant she'd set him free and break the curse. She bit her lip as she squatted near a promising patch of cattails sprouting from the edge of the water. Her bright eyes scanned the surface of the rushing water. The water was much higher than normal and moving faster than it usually did. She blinked. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad for frog princes. Creeping down and moving through the thick overgrowth towards a row of thorny bushes, April stopped. She pressed her mouth into a line, then started to cough.

" _Koff, koff, koff,"_  she pressed her fist to her lips. Still coughing, she rolled her eyes and shrugged off her backpack. Sitting on the moist grass, she unzipped it and rummaged around inside until her fingers discovered the inhaler. She raised the device to her lips and squeezed like the doctor had showed her, breathing in deeply and then holding her breath as she counted to ten in her head.

_"cugh, cugh, cugh."_

April froze. Inhaler still clutched in one hand, she spun on her bottom. Her eyes darted about. She blew out her breath as the soft coughing sound came again. From the under the bushes. April swallowed and slowly pulled one strap of her backpack over her shoulder. Eyes wide, she ducked her head and narrowed her eyes, trying to get a look at who was coughing. She pursed her lips. She couldn't see anything through the thick bushes.

She glanced over her shoulder, back where she left her father. She swallowed, frozen with indecision. It could be a homeless person. Someone dangerous. Her heart began to hammer. But what if it wasn't? What if . . . a thrill of possibility went through her. She shivered in anticipation and excitement. It wouldn't hurt just to take a peek. If it was someone dangerous she'd run back to her dad. Plan formed, she moved onto her hands and knees.

She knew today was going to be special. She just knew it!

She crawled forward; ducking her head beneath the low scratching branches. The distant sounds of children laughing and playing were drowned out by the sound of the wind in the trees above and the rushing current of the water flowing next to her. The prickly thorns grabbed at her back pack and shirt. She struggled and yanked herself free. Gritting her teeth, she moved forward with a determined frown. The criss-crossing branches gave way to a low opening. April gasped and froze as her eyes took in the incredible sight before her.

In the dappled golden sunlight filtering through the canopy of bushes and waving branches of the trees above, she saw him. The green of his skin a deeper shade than the leaves and grass all around him. The light played along the swirling pattern on his shell. She couldn't believe her eyes. Laying on his stomach, cheek pressed against the flattened moist grass, mouth hanging slightly open as he coughed softly and panted, was an enchanted creature. Right out of her story books. Right out of her dreams.

April's mouth hung open. Her eyes widened as her heart hammered in her ears. She moved closer and her hand went into something sticky and wet. At first, April thought it was mud and moved to wipe her hand on her jeans. But it felt slick and strange. She brought her hand up to find it coated in something red.  _Blood!_  She swallowed and looked closer at his expression. His brows were knit together like he was in pain.

"Oh, no. You're hurt," she breathed and hadn't realized until then that she'd been holding her breath.

At the sound of her voice, he cracked open his eyes. Chocolate brown eyes searched blearily then found her. His eyelids fluttered as she saw him focus on her face. His eyes widened suddenly.

She smiled.

Donnie screamed.

* * *

_"_ _Sons! Sons!"_

The sound of their dad's hoarse shouts startled the three turtles. Raph jumped to his feet from where he knelt next to Leo who was drying away the tears with the back of his hand. Mikey took a step towards the entrance when Scrag burst into the room nearly bowling him over. Scrag wrapped one arm around Mikey's neck and gathered Raph's sweatshirt in one fist as he pulled the boy close to him, scrambling backwards until they were just outside his bedroom.

Leo rose up to his feet. He looked at the entranceway then back to his dad and brothers. He shook his head, confused. But then he scurried over as quickly as he could as Scrag motioned hastily with his hand for him to join them where they huddled. He eased his body into a crouch in front of the trio.

"Dad, what's the matter?" Raph asked in a hushed voice.

"Wh-What's going on?" Mikey asked, eyes round with fright. "Are you okay? Tell us what's happening!"

Scrag pressed his hand over Mikey's entire face and shushed him. His head was tilted towards the side, watching the entrance of their home with his good eye. None of them had ever seen their dad look so scared. Three pairs of wide eyes darted back and forth then settled on the quiet, dark passageway at the front of their home. They huddled closer, shivering with expectation and fear as their dad only panted and mumbled in a hushed frantic voice to himself about someone coming to get him. He was completely panicked. His fright fed into the boys' confusion and heightened their own fear. Seconds ticked by in complete silence broken only by their soft panting and heavy breathing.

A heartbeat later the door to their home exploded in a shower of broken planks and splintered wood. Bits and pieces flew into the room in a shower. Mikey covered his ears and screamed, crouching down into a ball. Eyes round, Raph's hand gripped the handle of the knife in his pocket, tightly. With the other hand, he grabbed Leo's arm as Leo reflexively moved to stand in front of the group; shielding them all with his trembling aching body. Protecting them from this unknown intruder even as pain lanced spears through him.

A gray rat strode into the room. Amber eyes blazed like fire as they darted around, finally landing on the small group jumbled against the wall. Yoshi dashed forward but hesitated at the last second as he processed the sight before him. 

 _Three! There are three!_  

So, all four little turtles had survived! Unexplained and immense joy raced through his heart but was immediately squelched by the fact of their situation. Yes, they had indeed survived, but in what condition, under what kind of hideous circumstances? Bitter guilt drowned the last remnants of Yoshi's happiness at his discovery.  _No. Children, I am so sorry._  If he'd only been stronger. He could've been the one to rescue them from the very start. Yoshi blinked back the burning tears that stung the corners of his eyes. He could do nothing about the past and what these innocents had endured. But he could be strong for them now. He was ready,  _now_.

Scrag's arms pulled the boys in tighter in front of him as he cowered behind them. Leo stood firmly in place, trembling but not breaking eye contact with the uninvited guest.

"Stay  _away_  from us!" Leo shouted in a cracking voice, moving his arms out protectively over them. "Get out of our house!"

Yoshi snapped at Scrag, "Release the children,  _Yajuu_!" Stepping closer, fist wound tightly around his staff, Yoshi raised it up behind his head. "Release them,  _now_!"

" _Argh!"_  Scrag shrieked in terror. "Protect me! Boys, protect me!" Scrag wailed in a high pitched whine. He moaned as he clutched at his head and ducked lower behind the young turtles.

"You go away! Don't hurt our dad!" Mikey hollered, wrapping his arms around Scrag in a protective hug.

Yoshi approached swiftly; lowering his staff and moved to slid Leo out of the way as gently as possible by one shoulder when Raph struggled and broke free from Scrag's hold. He jumped up next to Leo who had grabbed at Yoshi's arm as he tried to push the gray rat away. Leo cried out and it was both in pain and anger. The knife suddenly appeared in Raph's fist; blade gleaming. He swung it back and forth, his immature growl rumbling like a puppy's; baring his small fangs.

"Get back!"

Yoshi reared back, surprised at the boys' fierce defense of this monster. Confused and astounded at their behavior, he looked from the two attacking him to the smallest one, holding and comforting the black beast on the floor. For a brief, panicked second, he questioned if he was wrong in coming here. He had no claim on these children. No right to remove them from the only home they've ever known. But the quickening flame of doubt was completely extinguished as his mind flashed back to what he had witnessed in the tunnel with the other little turtle with the large brown eyes.

Taking a calming breath, his eyes narrowed as he ducked and swayed easily out of the reach of the little turtle's slashing. Years of martial arts training and practicing in solitude in his lair came back to him with the ease of taking a slow deep breath.

The small turtles cried out all at once, their voices laced with desperation, fear and panic, "Get away from our  _Dad_!" "Go away!" "Leave Daddy  _alone_!" "No, don't hurt him!"

Yoshi's rounded ears perked up in surprise. They were calling him  _daddy_ , Yoshi realized with a horrified start. The blood in his veins turned to ice water. This beast was no father.

Yoshi hissed in startled pain as the little turtle with the amber eyes so like his own slashed at him. The sharp edge ran across the back of his hand; biting through the flesh and fur. Yoshi pulled his hand back and lurched to one side, dodging another swing. Holding his hand to his chest as the blood trickled down to his elbow, he blocked the next swing with his staff and with a shove that used very little effort, threw the child backwards. He toppled into the black rat and fell onto his shell with a grunt and a short yelp of pain. The knife clattered to the side and Yoshi leapt and kicked it away; internally damning his stupidity for getting so easily distracted as to allow himself to be cut by a child.

Yoshi stared in disbelief and fury as the little children resumed their protective stances in front of the black rat, who crouched sniveling and cowering like the coward the beast truly was. They shook and trembled in terror and helpless anger. The sight of the demon quailing behind the children covered in the bruises no doubt brought upon by the very same beast only served to feed Yoshi's rage. He did not want to hurt any of them. But his eyes flashed as he stepped closer. His anger stormed around him like a raging unseen force. His body shook with it.

But even as he loomed above the four of them, reason stayed his hand and whispered to him in a voice resembling Tang Shen's, to stay calm and in control. No, he could not bring himself to harm the beast in front of the children. Yoshi's heart bled for them. These children who identified this beast as their father. The innocence and trusting nature of children would not let them see what this creature that posed as a father really was, not until one day, when it would be too late. They were innocent. He would not cause them any further harm by butchering this monster before their eyes.

Barely able to speak through the low, growling snarl, Yoshi spoke, "I will not leave here without the children."

Scrag lifted his hands from his head; sensing a way to escape harm. He gazed up at the gray rat with his clever glittering eye. With a hung head full of submission and acquiescence, he nodded. Roughly, he pried Mikey off from one arm and ushered Raph forward. With a cruel shove, he pushed them into Yoshi's body.

"Yes. Yes, take them. I'm happy to be rid of them. They only steal my food, the little sneaks. Be aware of the little thieves."

Raph spun around. "No!" Raph cried, terrified. He struggled in Yoshi's arm that held him gently but firmly.

Mikey stood where he was shoved, shaking from head to toe. "Dad! D-Don't let him  _take_  us!"

Leo stood watching the scene play out as if he were standing in the middle of a nightmare. Was his dad really just going to let this stranger take away his brothers? And what about him? A tremor of fear went through him. He'd be all alone. All the time. With . . . him. His brothers were the only thing that helped him get through all the pain. Being with them gave him reason to not give up, even when the pain was too much, in his head, in his body, in his heart.

Leo turned his face to the gray rat. The one who spoke so kindly to him in that tunnel so long ago that he'd thought it was a dream he had dreamt. He opened his mouth to ask to go with when he felt Scrag's arms wrap around him.

Scrag gripped Leo from behind; one around his chest the other around his middle. Leo ducked his head and cringed as Scrag pulled him back; holding him tightly against his chest; making Leo stumble and fall onto his bottom. He let out a gasp of pain and clenched his tearing eyes closed tightly. He squirmed feebly in the black rat's arms; gasping in pain.

"You can have those. But I'm keeping this one."

Yoshi's eyes flashed. He ground his teeth and took one step back. Indecision rocked him _. Should he take these and come back later for the last?_

Scrag yanked the small turtle possessively closer. Scrag's claws scraped along the material of his damp shirt. The boy's breath hitched in pain. Eyelids fluttering, the little turtle hesitantly raised his dark blue eyes to him. They were filled with silent pleading and pain and glassy with fright. Then Yoshi's eyes fell lower and he saw the deepening crimson stain creeping its way slowly down the fabric of the little turtle's inner thigh.

" _Akuma_!" Yoshi growled and his face darkened with fury. Words dripping in menace, he spoke quietly, "If you wish to live give me the boy."

With an enraged snarl, Scrag shoved Leo forward. Leo toppled and tripped over his feet. Yoshi dropped his staff and caught him in his arms as Leo whimpered. Scrag disappeared behind the curtain with a slithering motion that reminded Yoshi of a snake slipping into his den.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that's right, I'ma quotin' Sophocles now. Raising fanfiction to new and higher levels of presumptuousness since 2012. XD But seriously, is that quote not so awesome? To me, it's perfect for the guys. Perfect.
> 
> I figured monsters like Scrag are natural cowards as all bullies really are. But don't worry . . . ah, I won't say nothin'. :D
> 
> And...! little DONNIE met little APRIL! eeee! What did you think of that?! Love ya! xoxo
> 
> AKUMA = Fiend   
> YAJUU = Beast in Japanese


	12. All of us Lost Children

Aruku = GO! Kodomo = Child

* * *

 

April pressed her hand onto the creature's mouth, cutting off his scream. Large brown eyes, flecked with gold, scanned her face and then crossed as they looked at her hand on his mouth. They were the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen. She didn't want him to be scared. Biting her lip, she decided to try to talk to him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," she said sweetly. "I wanna be friends. Okay?" Donnie looked up at her face and blinked as she went on slowly, "Do you know what friends means? Wait a minute, can you understand me?"

Donnie bobbed his head once. April's smile grew wider.

In the dappled light, Donnie could see her bright blue eyes sparkling and he felt some of his earlier fear dissipate. Still his heart was hammering at her close proximity. He'd never been so close to a human before. He never saw one the same age as him, least of all, a girl. He never saw one so . . . pretty.

She looked like one of those paintings he'd seen in a tattered and water-damaged book he'd found once. Too cumbersome to lug back home and much too big to hide, Donnie was forced to flip through the pages and absorb what he could while he had the chance at the junkyard. His photographic memory taking in data and images as he quickly flipped the moist, heavy pages. Until he paused; breath catching in his throat.

He remembered every detail of the page that stilled his hand. The painting that drew and held his attention until Leo called to him that it was time to go. The image of the beautiful lady standing in the seashell at the edge of the sea with the angel blowing at her hair seared into his mind. That's who this girl reminded Donnie of; that lady in the painting. His throat swallowed reflexively.

A strong breeze made the leaves around them skitter and twist on their tiny stems. A lock of her dark red hair blew across her freckle-kissed face. Her hand was soft and warm against his lips. Carefully, she removed her hand and brushed the stray strand of hair away back behind one ear.

"Can you talk?" she asked with a slight turn of her head.

"Yes," he replied in a shy whisper. Cringing as he felt the familiar and awful need rise up, Donnie fought it, but couldn't hold it back. He immediately coughed; rolling his scrunched up face into the matted grass beneath his cheek, one fist pressed next to his chin.  _"Cugh, chugh! Cugh, cugh, cugh!"_ He couldn't stop the violent spasms making him finally gag and shudder. He rested his cheek on the cool grass as his heart galloped and his breathing slowly calmed from gasps to hitched panting.

April watched him with concern. His cough sounded tight and painful. She scooted closer, hunched over beneath the branches of the large bush shielding them from the rest of the park.

"That sounds like it hurts. I'm getting over a bad cough, too. Are . . . are you cold?" She noticed how he was shaking and an idea struck her. She pulled her backpack nearer and unzipped it. She pulled out a rolled up sweatshirt. "I don't have any band-aids. For your . . . uh, cuts," she told him. "But I have a sweater you can borrow."

Donnie shifted to raise up on his elbows and cringed. His back hurt so much. His head swam. He slowly laid back down in the grass and only stared up at April with his mournful, chocolate-colored eyes.

"You poor, poor thing," April whispered, her heart aching for him.

She wanted to stroke his cheek but decided that she'd probably only scare him so she forced herself to stay where she was. This was the most incredible moment of her life and there was little to nothing she could do to help her new special friend. She chewed on her bottom lip trying to think of what she could do to make him feel better. Carefully, she unrolled the dark purple sweatshirt against her stomach and lap.

The front of the shirt showed an image of a giant white kitty hugging a smiling statue of liberty with the caption above and below it stating the invitation of "Hug Me in New York City!" It was a gift from her aunt when she and her father had moved here only a few months ago. It was big on her, really big so she figured it would easily fit him.

She started suddenly as the voice of her father called out for her; laced with frantic worry. Her mind raced as her eyes darted around. She nodded to herself as a plan formed.

"Nuts! I have to go. But will you promise to stay here? Right in this spot?" She spoke rapidly and then quickly threw the purple shirt over his shell. "Right here, okay? I'll come back a little later, but only if you stay here." She pointed at the grass.

With a quick glance into her backpack, she reached in and pulled out a small package of crackers sandwiched with bright orange cheese. Donnie's eyes darted to the food. His mouth filled with saliva and his empty stomach cramped.

"You hungry?"

Donnie nodded once and blinked. He was starving, literally. She handed the crackers to him and he reached out and gingerly took them from her with one hand.

_"April! Where are you?"_

"Oh man, please promise you'll stay here," she pleaded. "Please? Please-please-please?"

Donnie nodded, "o-okay," he finally said in a soft, hoarse voice.

April turned to go then paused as she whipped her head back to look at him one more time.

"My name's April. What's yours?" She paused. "You have a name, don't you?"

Donnie looked from the package of crackers up to the pretty girl biting her lip waiting impatiently for him to answer.

"Donatello . . . Donnie," he replied so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

He'd searched for the tags that his dad had taken from him when he was very little. He had gathered them up, not really knowing what they were at the time, but his clever mind knew they were important and something to keep. They belonged to him and his brothers and he wanted to keep them. His photographic memory had sealed the strange writing down in his mind, but he'd kept the tags inside the only possession he had in the whole world that exclusively belonged to just him and him alone: his toolbox. As he learned to read, he realized that the writing was actually names. And the long, strange names were his and his brother's.

Their proper names.

April's smile seemed to light up the small space around him.

"Donnie," she repeated with a dreamy look in her eyes. Then she focused sharply on him once more. "I'll be back, okay? Donnie?"

Donnie nodded and watched her pantomime for him to stay put again before she spun around on her knees. He watched her shift and scramble through and out of the tangle of branches and tall weeds. Distantly he heard her breathlessly answer her father's insistent calls to her.

Their voices faded, leaving Donnie laying in the grass, eyeing the crackers before he tentatively examined the package. His stomach rumbled as he fumbled open the plastic with shaking fingers. His mind raced as he chewed one after another of the crunchy, powdery, pungent food. He devoured the rest of the crackers and then licked the clear plastic. They were delicious. He only wished there were more. With a sigh, he shifted, pulling the sweater over his shoulders, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

The terrible events of the day faded away as exhaustion pulled him down to sleep. His last thoughts were of her blue eyes sparkling down at him through the dappled light and shadows surrounding him. And her voice repeating his name, "Donnie."

* * *

Yoshi ushered the sniffling children out into the tunnel in front of him; pushing them out from the only home they'd ever known. He had no time to be gentle and coaxing. Yoshi knew this was a lot for them to deal with, but he had to get back to the little one he'd left by the garbage dump. He'd been bleeding and no doubt traumatized from what was happening to him. Yoshi did not want to leave him, but in a rash moment, he chose to chase after the demon rat to his hole in the wall where he'd kept the little one's brothers. Part of him knew it was the only decision he could've made at the time. After all, he managed to save the rest of the children. He just needed to collect the little one left in the tunnel and they could go home and Yoshi would make them as comfortable as possible. There'd be time for explanations and introductions then.

But for now, he had to hurry.

He started off with long, quick strides; cane held tightly in his grip; surpassing the scuffling, hesitant footsteps of the children in front of him. He hurried on but something nagged at him and he turned to turn to see the three turtle children huddled together; no longer following; the two smaller of the group clutching at the one in the middle with blue eyes. His arms were draped over their shoulders, both offering them comfort and supporting himself. His face was pained.

The smallest one in the bright, over-sized electric blue sweatshirt was crying; bottom lip trembling as he nibbled at his thumb. Eyes almost the same color as his shirt darted from him to the ground to his brother back to the ground in front of him. The thick-set one on the child's right was glaring at Yoshi with an eye that flashed gold in the dim light. The red of his sweatshirt only made the gold stand out in the shadows even more. His other eye was swollen and closed, bruised and blackened.

Yoshi did not have to guess where he'd gotten that injury. But despite the black eye, Yoshi was reminded of his own strange eyes.

"Leo, we should just  _run_ , now," the one with amber eyes whispered in a not-so-quiet voice while tugging on his brother's arm.

Leo's dark eyes rose up and glanced at Yoshi sideways. He wore a filthy dark gray sweatshirt over a pair of light colored linen pants that were probably once someone's pajama bottoms. The cuffs were folded and rolled up over his bare feet to accommodate his height. He seemed to be weighing their options; going over a strategy in his mind for their escape. Yoshi could nearly see the wheels in his mind turning.

The little naïve child did not realize that their 'escape' would lead them directly from the pan into the fire. Didn't they realize this was their rescue? Leo stepped back, pulling the other two with him. Yoshi stiffened. He raced around behind them and nudged them forward. They took several steps forward then stopped.

"Children, we must flee from this place. Please," Yoshi pleaded but was only met with a mixed set of expressions: defiance, apprehension and sadness. With a frustrated sigh, he glanced over his shoulder, they had only gone several yards from where he'd taken them. So far, they'd been lucky. The demon rat had chosen to remain hidden away instead of following or attacking him; coward that he was. But Yoshi wanted to get them away from this place. The quicker the better. And he had to retrieve their wounded brother. They had to get moving.

He stepped closer and nudged them forward this time a little more roughly only to be met once again with hesitant reluctance as their collective heels dug into the rough ground. Yoshi huffed. They didn't have time to waste. He was quickly losing his patience. He needed to reach the injured one he'd left all alone in that tunnel, but he didn't want to upset the already distressed children by explaining just why exactly they had to hurry. He pushed them forward. The little one with the black eye spun around, tiny fangs bared.

_"Back off!"_

Yoshi's temper flared. His frustration and irritation got the better of him. He ground his teeth together and took a deep breath.

 _"Aruku!"_ he shouted. _"Now!"_  He snarled; his booming voice echoed around them and down through the tunnel.

The children ducked and cringed back into a tight, trembling group. Their shells smacked against the brick wall as they fell away from him. Even the aggressive one dropped his head and fell back, cowering next to his older brother who positioned himself slightly in front of the other two. His blue eyes shining with fright. Yoshi noted this one continued to place himself protectively in front of his siblings despite his being in obvious pain. The youngest wailed and clutched the eldest tightly; pulling on the fabric of his sweatshirt. At their sudden panicked and frightened expressions, Yoshi immediately felt regret for using that tone. He blinked slowly and motioned with his hand to the eldest to continue on.

He ducked his head and pulled his brothers away from the wall and started forward like they'd begun: his arms around their backs, protective and comforting.

Yes, Yoshi regretted scaring them. But in the end, it accomplished his goal. The little ones no longer hesitated but marched forward without any further hesitation or defiance.

"Good, good. Very good, children." Yoshi tried to smooth over his previous intimidation with gentle reassurances, but the children only flinched and hurried forward without a glance in his direction. With a sigh, Yoshi rolled his eyes and said a quick prayer for patience and guidance.

After what seemed an eternity, they reached the place of the lone child's torture. They came around the familiar bend in the tunnel to the space where the grate and the leather belts lay like a crime scene. Yoshi moved around the three children who looked about with confused, nervous glances, as his face and eyes darted all around. This was the correct spot. Wasn't it?

He spotted his discarded robe and fell on it. Gathering it into his fist, his eyes traveled to the spot where he'd left the injured little turtle. They widened as he noticed the twin streaks of blood that led to the edge of the overhang. He crouched and moving on his knees and one hand, crept along the trail, nose and whiskers twitching frantically as he tried to pick up the little one's scent. Dread coiled into a tight knot at the bottom of his stomach. His head felt light as his heart hammered in his throat.

"Kodomo," he called. "Child?" His voice sounded hollow and flat to his ears.

 _Did he fall into the water? But . . . how?_  

Yoshi's mind raced as hot tears welled and burned his eyes; blurring the lines of his vision.  _Perhaps he passed out and tumbled forward?_  His shining eyes searched the water for any signs of the little one. But by the rushing current, he knew even if the turtle had fallen in, he'd have been swept away.

On shaking legs, Yoshi stood. He moved slowly along the edge, scanning the water, until he reached as far as he could go. He leaned down and over, peering into the gaping opening of the large pipe where the water surged through and into in great foaming waves. He'd have been crushed . . . certainly drowned.

"No. Please, no," he murmured.

 _What have I done?_  

Yoshi's head dropped as regret raked his heart and grief aged his soul. One trembling hand covered his brow as his eyes scrunched closed in pain. How could he have left the child in that state? He should have never left him here alone. The sound of metal scraping over concrete had Yoshi's head turning towards the other children. He blinked away the moisture and watched them from where he stood, feeling momentarily himself like a lost child in the dark; frightened and confused . . . lost.

"Hey! I know what this is! This is Donnie's toolbox," Raph gasped from where he knelt next to the large rusted box that he'd pulled closer. He looked up and frowned. "Leo, where is he?" he asked, expecting Leo to know.

Leo could only shake his head. He looked around the space. Took in the belts and how they were wrapped around the rusted bars of the large metal grate laying on the ground. The dark splotches of something staining the cement. His pulse began to beat uncomfortably in his throat. Then his eyes fell on the screwdriver near his feet; they widened with fear. He carefully and by inches, crouched down and lifted it to examine it closer. His face paled as he took in the bloody tip.

His youngest brother brought two hands up on either side of his cheeks and began to call for their missing sibling.

"Doooonnnnnniiiiieeeee," he called. "Dooonnnnnnieeeee?"

The sound of his sweet voice slashed further wounds into Yoshi's heart, for he knew there'd be no answer to the little one's desperate cries for his brother.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing this I was in the throes of battling some wicked writer's block. I hope this chapter lived up to the others. Sorry for the shortness. The image of a sweet little Mikey calling for Donnie was so sad to me.


	13. Keeping Promises

 

 

Yoshi pulled his robe on and tied the belt, cinching it tightly around his middle. He gathered his shaken nerves and approached the three remaining turtle children. He crouched and retrieved his cane from where he'd dropped it earlier. Leaning wearily on it, he raised his head and started to tell the little turtle to cease calling out for his sibling. His head was pounding and the desperate, insistent cries were doing nothing but hurting his heart and no doubt burning the child's throat.

Before he could speak, the youngest stopped calling for his brother and shuffled backwards away from him until he stood next to the oldest child; bumping into him where he crouched. He flinched in pain.

Yoshi's eyes fell on the screwdriver clutched in his hand. The dried bloody tip was like an accusation of his failure to save the child who'd been strapped down here. Guilt knotted his stomach. Yoshi's mouth tightening into a pressed line.

"Put that down," he said quietly.

The children exchanged glances. Leo obeyed immediately and set the screwdriver down. They fell into silence and all turned their eyes to Yoshi. As if they could sense his apprehension and grief, their faces, one by one fell.

Yoshi broke the silent moment. "Let's go," he said and turned towards the passageway that would lead to his den.

Raph stood up with one arm wrapped around the toolbox. Yoshi turned. "Leave that," he said, not unkindly.

"No," the reply came in a fierce snap.

The other two watched nervously as their brother in the red sweatshirt stared up defiantly at their new guardian and master of their lives.

"Raph," Leo started and climbed shakily to his feet. He reached out to his brother, but Raph lurched away. An incredulous expression painted on his face.

"Screw that. This is Donnie's. I ain't leavin' it here."

Yoshi took one step towards the young turtle. A moment of panic flashed across the boy's face before quickly being replaced with angry determination. His jaw set, he stood his ground.

Yoshi considered the anger radiating off this child before him and speculated on the kind of life he'd been subjected to. He did not carry the blank, empty look that was on the young child's face that he'd found strapped to the grate. Nor did he have the haunted, sorrowful look that painted the eldest dark blue eyes like a hunted animal. Both looks having the telltale signs of long-term abuse of the vilest kind.

The youngest seemed the most whole of the group at this point. As far as Yoshi could gather. But this one, with the blackened eye and the fierce fire in his amber eye, this one had suffered as well. Yoshi realized his fiery, defiant personality most likely brought the pain of physical punishment and abuse down upon him. Aggression would only be met with the same with this child.

He tried a gentler approach. "I have tools enough at my lair," Yoshi explained. "We have no need . . ."

"Donnie will want these," Raph said, interrupting him boldly, as he wrapped both arms around the box and hugged it to his chest. Shifting his feet slightly to stand more solidly; stubbornly.

Yoshi's eyelids fluttered and he felt only compassion for the child being so considerate of his missing sibling's feelings. "I see." He needed to choose his battles to win this one's trust. That was plain.

"Wait a minute," the youngest spoke up, his voice tinged with the hoarse edge that comes from crying hard. "You're gonna bring Donnie, too, right?"

Yoshi opened his mouth but had no words to speak.

"Leo, you won't let him separate us, will you?" Mikey asked, now his voice was laced with a hysterical note of panic. He turned and grabbed the oldest by the arm. Raph was staring at him, his one-eyed gaze boring a hole through him.

Yoshi took note of how the other two deferred to the oldest and wondered about that. Was it simply birth order . . . or something else? Some invisible quality that merited allegiance and compliance.

"Tell him he has to bring Donnie, too. Tell him, Leo!"

 _"Tell him!"_  Raph roared at Leo and he flinched.

Leo stared at Mikey then glanced at his furious brother. Slowly, he turned his gaze over to Yoshi who stood still at a loss, watching them.

Speech failed him. How could he explain this to these children? This failure?  _Your brother is gone. I lost him. But I saved you three . . . forgive me._  The child's sorrowful eyes framed by a slight frown met Yoshi's amber ones. He shook his head helplessly, still unable to speak. The words choked and colliding into each other in his mind. He had just rescued them only to allow tragedy to cut through his triumphant deed and render him a failure as a protector and guardian.

Leo swallowed, gathering his courage. Yoshi could see the boy pulling himself together. To brace himself for whatever reaction that may come from his words.

"You have to bring Donnie, too," the turtle said softly but with steely resolve.

The siblings both looked from Leo to Yoshi expectantly, waiting for his response with trepidation.

Yoshi gave a curt nod. "If . . . When I find him, I will bring him as well." The children stared up at him. "I promise," he vowed.

It was the best he could offer at the moment. He did not want to give voice to his certainty that their sibling was lost. And though there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps he was wrong with this assumption, Yoshi's logic told him the boy had surely fallen into the rushing water and drowned. His body washed away by the current. Yoshi's heart constricted painfully with the thought.

Feigning calm and confidence, he said, "Now, follow me, children."

The three did as told, following along, the youngest holding Leo by the hand as he limped alongside his little brother. The other lugging the heavy toolbox close to his chest, possessively; casting one last longing glance around; hoping to spot some overlooked sign of their missing brother. But there was only the grate and the belts and the garbage strewn about; forgotten; discarded.

* * *

Scrag slithered from beneath the piles of blankets and flattened pillows where he'd huddled for the past two hours; trembling and muttering promises of his own safety to himself. His oily fur rolled along his back as it bristled with anxiety. Using his double senses, he raised his head and tuned in for any feeling that revealed he was not alone.

The memory of the blackened rage that the gray one had brought into his lair sent a renewed wave of fear through Scrag. That one had meant for his death. Of that he was sure. He didn't need to read it in those terrible burning eyes to know. He could feel the menace and the power of that black desire to tear him to pieces rolling off the creature in thick waves. It was so palpable that Scrag could see the vision that emanated from the gray one's mind. Blurred and out of focus like a poorly taken photograph, still it bloomed in his mind. And it terrified him.

Scrag moaned piteously and held his head with two hands.

The gray one brought death with him. No, he  _was_  death. Painful, bloody death. That one had killed before. Had tasted the fevered rush of cutting down enemies and the accompanying bloodlust that painted his spirit in bold strokes which had not faded with time or denial. Before he was a rat-creature he was a bad human. A human who had dealt death.

Oh, if he'd only have crushed his pathetic skull when he had the chance all those years ago!

Scrag hugged himself and rocked back and forth where he sat on the edge of his filthy mattress; whimpering. His eyes roamed and they fell on the long pipe at the base of the mattress. He picked it up.

A wavering smile played across his lips as he remembered the previous night; how the boy had squirmed and shuddered and tried so hard to stifle his cries and sobs while he worked the cold, metal tool into him. So afraid to wake his brothers with his pained gasps and groans. Scrag was immensely pleased that the boy managed not to scream as he had the week before when he'd tried the new game on him as a punishment for getting in the way of his disciplining the other, stupid one. Just the look on his face when he spotted the pipe in his hand was nearly enough to set Scrag off.

He chuckled darkly.

Scrag sighed with sentimental reminisce. Always trying to wrestle free and struggle to escape only to eventually fold under Scrag's superior strength as he pinned the boy down, usually choking him until he gave up. The fight he put up was half-hearted, Scrag knew, but it remained each and every time Scrag brought him into his room. As though he couldn't help himself. It was part of who he was: to try to fight back.

Courageous little creature, Scrag thought with a bemused shake of his head. It thrilled Scrag and added to the experience. His spirit was not easily broken. For that, Scrag was grateful. But in the end, the boy was too afraid to fight back more than he did because of the warnings and promises Scrag had whispered in his ear as he took him.

Scrag examined the pipe held in his hand. Yes, Leo was so willing to take whatever he wanted to give him so long as Scrag kept his promise not to bring his brothers into the games they played. Scrag chuckled again.

He didn't know about his brother, Donnie. The useless, stupid one that Scrag used when he wasn't in the mood for a struggle. An ironic giggle burst from his throat. Poor naïve boy. What a blind little fool. So easily deceived by empty promises. So eager to accept his fate if it meant his brothers were spared. His earnest self-sacrifice was simply delicious.

Scrag licked his lips, relishing the residual waves of pleasure the memory of the other night brought back. The feel of the boy writhing beneath him as he pressed down on his strange and yet alluring shell; the sound of his cracking voice as he bit back the cries of pain. Arousal warmed him. He reached down, sliding the metal edge of the pipe down along his body, but stopped.

The pleasant memory faded into the surrounding shadows and silence. Leaving him with an abandoned, forgotten feeling settling into his stomach. His smile was quickly replaced by a deepening frown as he gripped the pipe tightly until his knuckles lightened.

He wanted Leo, now. Needed him. Needed to hold him and stroke his soft, strange flesh, that precious boy with the sad eyes. But Leo was gone. The gray one took him. He wouldn't let him keep the boy. Even when he offered the other two.

The selfish bastard! It wasn't fair! With a snarl, Scrag pitched the pipe across the room. It struck the wall with a loud clatter and rolled away.

"For  _himself_ ," Scrag whispered; staring into the gloom that surrounded him with a faraway look. "He took him from me. But he was  _mine_.  _My_  son.  _My_  sweet."

The thought hit him that the gray one was probably enjoying himself right at this moment with all three. The selfish pig! That's why he took them all.

The image of the boys eagerly attending to the gray rat's body flashed into his mind causing Scrag to pitch forward with a hiss. Leo on his knees in front of him, pausing only to smile sweetly and shyly up at the gray beast. Scrag bristled. The boy only ever had tears for Scrag. Even when Scrag made the boy say he liked it. Made him repeat it over and over. It was through a haze of bleak fear and anguish. Leo never smiled for him. Never.

Jealousy raged through him.

" _No!"_

On hands and knees, he crept low to the blanket in the doorway and lifted one corner; peering into the quiet, empty room beyond. They were gone. The gray one was gone. Relief flooded him. Instantly replaced with cold fury. How dare that creature come here, to his home and take what was his!

He stepped out into the room. Pacing, Scrag's tail lashed back and forth. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He was clever and quick. He would need to be especially clever and careful with this. The black eye glittered. He would get his toy back and kill the gray rat, bathing in his blood while he took the boy.

* * *

The light was fading, casting long shadows through April's bedroom window as she hurried to her closet. She folded the large quilted blanket into as small a square as she could and tucked it under her arm. Stepping out into the narrow hallway, April called out to her father.

"Hey Dad?"

She paused, holding her breath as she waited for his reply. After a few seconds his voice answered from the room just off the cramped living room that made up his office. He was working. This was perfect.

"Uh, can I go work on my bike?"

Kirby stepped out into the living room and April froze in her tracks; one hand lightly touching the doorknob to the exit.

"Out in the garage?" He glanced at the clock. "I dunno, April. It's been so damp."

"I've got a sweater on," she offered. Then inspiration struck her. She held out the blanket. "I even brought a blanket in case I get chilly."

Kirby crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together. After another moment of deep consideration, he gave her a curt nod.

"Alright. But not too long, okay?" He ran a hand over his balding head. "I've got a phone conference at eight and I don't know how long it's going to go."

April nodded and as he turned away, his mind already focusing back on his work, she slipped out the door. She hopped across the small foyer to the top of the stairway and skipped down the flight to the bottom floor of the two-flat that belonged to her aunt. She stopped inside the dusty enclosed foyer, and reached down near the side of the staircase. She picked up her backpack that she'd filled with snacks and water bottles earlier in preparation for her little adventure. She flung it over one shoulder and glanced around.

Through the crack in the bottom of the door on her right that led to her aunt's flat, April could see the flashing light of the television set. So she was home.

Her aunt was a free-lance nurse and often worked double shifts and had a revolving and hectic schedule that more often than not left the first floor of the two-flat unoccupied. Well, it didn't matter that she was home, anyway, April thought as she twisted the deadbolt and opened the steel door of the back entrance that led outside. She'd just have to be extra careful. She eased the screen door beyond the metal one open; the hinges squealed and April flinched. Then she carefully closed it so that it didn't slam behind her.

She dashed across the narrow, ratty space that made up their sorry excuse for a backyard to the side of the garage where she'd left her wagon. She threw the blanket and backpack into it and pulled it through the narrow gangway between the buildings where she lived and her neighbor's apartment. The rubber wheels clattered and seemed too loud to her ears, but there was no way to silence the noise they made.

Hurrying as fast as she could in the darkening twilight, she power-walked down the three blocks to the corner and up one long block towards the park. The building's shadows deepened around her as the streetlamps winked on, one after another like yellow artificial eyes of some mechanical beast awakening and watching above her. Any stars that twinkled in the now inky sky above were blocked by the towering buildings and the general pollution in the air.

A damp breeze fluttered her pony-tail and April shivered. She coughed into her fist and grimaced. She was so sick of this stupid cough. Somewhere in the distance, sirens blared and howled. The constant roar of traffic from the busy street a few blocks away droned on like the hum of some monstrous machine that never stopped.

Crossing quickly through the opening of several deserted and abandoned lots filled with debris and garbage, April swallowed back her fear. A rusted pick-up truck sat glowering at her as she passed. She swore the dead headlights followed her movements as she passed by. From the edges of the shadows, it felt as though claws were stretching out, reaching for her ankles with every hurried step she took. Her heart beat in a steady rhythm along with her footsteps along the cracked concrete.

There was an element of danger in the atmosphere that April didn't understand. A paranoid feeling hovering around her as she pushed forward, moving faster. Her legs began to burn as her calves tightened up. Another fit of coughing shook her. Her eyes watered. For a second she questioned what she was doing out here.

She'd lied to her father. Guilt snapped like a rubber band in her stomach. She loved her dad very much, but she felt there was nothing else she could've done. She just had to, she reasoned.

She couldn't have just brought him out in broad daylight. It was crazy that she'd even found someone as wonderful and amazing as the little turtle boy. Part of her doubted that she'd even really seen him and talked to him. She waited her whole life to find something as miraculous as him and so she knew that if anyone was well prepared to find someone as special as him, it would be her.

The other kids wouldn't understand. And the adults would probably go nuts.

In fact, April was sure that if she had told her father or brought him out from his hiding spot, somehow he'd end up being taken from her and land into the hands of some evil scientist that would only want to see how his insides worked while he was still breathing. She'd read enough science fiction and watched enough movies to know that not all scientists were as kind and gentle as her father. He was one of the good guys. Who only worked and sacrificed for the good of mankind and progress. The kind of scientist she wanted to be one day.

No, she had made the right decision to keep his existence a secret. And so, she had to make a tiny little lie. She'd have to just get over the guilt.

Besides that, he was hurt. He was definitely scared. He needed help. He needed her. April pushed away her guilt and her paranoid fears. She focused instead on the little turtle boy she'd left waiting for her. Her little prince.

She squared her shoulders as a renewed sense of determination filled her. She only hoped he didn't get too scared and wander off.

The park loomed ahead. In the dark, the usually friendly, welcoming sight of the bushes and towering trees now took on a sinister appearance. The wind shook the branches, making the leaves whoosh and whisper above her. She swallowed nervously and halted in her tracks as a rowdy group of teenagers laughed and joked as they walked past her. Knowing that the gang called the Purple Dragons sometimes passed through her aunt's part of the neighborhood put her on edge. It was more or less one of the safer neighborhoods inside New York City, but April was used to the quiet, boring slumber that made up the suburbs of Indianapolis.

After they'd gone, she slipped over the sidewalk onto the grassy plains heading for the stream on the far side of the playground bordering the west edge of the park.

* * *

Donnie huddled in the dark beneath the bushes where he'd awoken from a deep sleep a few hours ago with a start. He'd heard a noise but wasn't sure what exactly had startled him awake. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there. He only knew his back hurt beneath his shell and his right arm burned from a long scrape on the underside and he had no idea of how he'd gotten it. The memories flooded back as he felt then, pulled the purple sweatshirt off his shell and stared at it.

He was above! Outside and alone, he thought with a start of fright and a soft mewling sound broke from his lips before he could silence himself.

He rose up on his knees, scratching his head against the lower branches of the bushes that sheltered him. He ducked and balled the sweater in his fists. A chilled wind caressed his bare flesh, making the bushes and branches all around him whisper in an intimidating manner. He shivered. With his head cringing down, he quickly pulled the sweatshirt over his head and shoved his arms through. The sleeves were too long, but he rolled the cuffs up and back. Scooting further under the larger of the bushes around him, he pulled his knees up under the stretched, thick fabric.

He had to get back. He had to . . . go somewhere, but where? Where could he go? Back home?

He swallowed as his fingertips gently touched the bruising on his throat. A tremor went through him. Would his dad be angry with him for what happened? Would he be punished for trying to . . . what was he trying to do when he slipped into the water, he wondered. Something in the deep recesses of his mind knew the answer, but Donnie didn't explore it. Some part of his rational, logical, self kept him away from that locked door within the shadowed corners of his mind. What about that gray rat that had chased away his dad? Did his dad fight him off and scare him away?

That gray rat . . .

 _He'd seen . . . he'd seen what was happening to me,_ he thought with a sick dread twisting inside his stomach. Seen what was about to happen. Donnie felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and humiliation. He pressed his forehead into his arms.

No one knew what happened in his dad's bedroom. It wasn't so bad, he lied to himself, as long as he didn't make his dad angry with his coughing or his stupidity. Only recently with the new games had it begun to hurt so much he could barely take it. Ever since Scrag had decided to explore the tools in his toolbox with Donnie. If only he wasn't so stupid, so useless, his dad wouldn't hurt him like that, he reasoned. He had to try harder.

But in that tunnel . . . His dad was going to use . . . the screwdriver . . . to  _hurt_  him, he thought with a crushing heartache. Just because he wanted those books.

He didn't mean to cause trouble. He just couldn't help it. When he found books he'd feel a rush of excitement and wanted to keep them just as he wanted to keep the toolbox.  _But it made Dad angry. So angry._  

He brought his shaking legs together tighter, hugging his arms around his knees as he remembered the feel of the tip of the screwdriver braced against his very private part between his legs. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and blew it out; resting his cheek against one knee. He would not cry. He would not be weak. He could be strong, just like Leo. Leo never cried. Never. Donnie started to shake from the effort of keeping his tears at bay.

 _It didn't happen. It didn't happen_ , he repeated in his mind. 

_Only because the gray rat stopped him._

Donnie blinked and stared forward as his body stilled and the urge to cry eased. A rush of mixed emotions swept through him. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or not. Who was that gray rat, so like his dad but so very different. What did he want with him? He shivered as thoughts of what the gray one might want with him raced through his mind. He gulped.

Everything had happened so fast back there and then he was alone. All alone and hurting. Scared. The memory of his despairing feelings returned and he felt his eyes burn with unshed tears. Maybe going home at this moment wasn't such a good idea, but he'd need to get back to see what happened with the gray rat and his dad. Not to mention to see if his brothers were okay. The thought of Scrag being angry with his brothers because of his disappearance made an icy thrill race up and down his spine. He'd head back when he thought it was safe to leave.

Donnie raised his head and looked around. His aching chest squeezed as a fit of coughing seized him. As it eased off and finally ended, he sighed in exhaustion. He was so tired, despite having slept the day away. His body just felt so heavy. The coughing made it worse. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep and sleep. But he should find a better place to hide, he reasoned groggily.

 _But she said she'd come back if I promised to stay here_ , his mind whispered.

At that moment the bushes began to violently shake around him. His face darted about in panic and he was ready to bolt when April's lowered head popped into the space from the branches. She glanced around and then spotted him. A wide smile spread over her freckled face.

"You kept your promise!" she whispered excitedly.

Donnie couldn't explain the feeling of relief and comfort that swept through him at the sight of this human girl. But it was the best feeling he may have ever felt. Well, second only to when he'd finished reading his first book from start to finish on his own.

"So did you," he replied in a soft voice.

April shrugged her shoulders, "Heh, yeah." She turned serious, "Ready to go?"

Donnie's eyes widened. "Uh . . ." Suddenly wary and nervous, he shrunk away from her. She wanted to take him somewhere? Fear dropped his stomach to his feet. He began to cough.  _"Cugh, cugh, cugh."_

"Easy," she said softly as she reached into her pocket.

April pulled a package of chocolate sandwich cookies out from one pocket. She knew he might hesitate to follow her, so she figured the easiest way to lure him would be with food. Especially after the way he'd stared so hungrily at those crackers she'd given him earlier. He must really have been hungry. Or really loved crackers.

She held the cookies up and had to bite the inside of her cheeks at his sudden intense expression and the way his eyes locked on and followed the package.

He was so cute. She waved the cookies back and forth towards him with raised eyebrows. Only meaning to entice him and make him eager to follow.

Donnie's fear vanished as the girl produced and held out a package of what smelled like . . . cookies. She dangled it and swung the delicious smelling food back and forth just out of his reach. His empty stomach cramped painfully. His throat convulsed. Was she teasing him? He was reminded of his dad and Mikey. He liked to hold food out to his little brother, knowing how hungry they all were, only to snatch it away and hit him when he finally reached for it.

His fingers dug into the moist grass at his sides. His hunger made him feel weak and shaky. It killed him to do it, but he turned his face away from the temptation. He stared fixedly at the ground to one side.

April was confused at his reaction. Maybe he didn't like cookies?

"C'mon," she coaxed. "You want some cookies?" her voice took on a higher pitch like someone speaking to a small animal, "Come with me. C'mon."

Donnie glanced at her then quickly away. He nervously pulled at the blades of grass at his sides with his thick fingers.

April pressed her mouth into a tight line. She blew a strand of loose hair off her forehead. She needed to get him going, she was running out of time before her dad went to the garage to check on her. She shifted to sit crossed legged and ripped open the package. The turtle boy's face snapped around. April pulled a dark chocolate cookie out and held it out to him.

"You want one? They're my favorite."

Donnie eyed the proffered cookie warily. His stomach rumbled angrily at his reluctance.

With a trembling hand he reached out and snatched the cookie from her. Then turning away, he quickly shoved it into his salivating mouth, crunching the blissfully good sweet into mush before swallowing. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the delicious flavor that assaulted his taste buds. It might have been the best thing he'd ever eaten.

He trembled as he fought the urge to grab the rest of the cookies right out of her hand and devour them before she could take them away. The crackers from earlier were the only thing he had to eat since the morning and that was only the typical slice of moldy bread and rock-hard square of cheese not much bigger than his thumbnail. And the day before there was only the handful of spare crumbling bits of dry cereal left in the bottom of the box that his dad had finished off and that was shared among the four of them.

April smiled triumphantly as Donnie turned his dark eyes back to the package in her hand and the remaining cookies and looked at it with intense longing. Without a doubt, she had him now! She scooted backwards and pulled out another cookie.

"If you want some more, you gotta come with me."

Donnie debated internally for a minute before his stomach decided the argument with a loud rumble. Hesitantly, he moved to his hands and knees and flinching from the stiff aching in his back and legs and arm, he followed the girl and the lovely scent of the chocolate cookies through the bushes.

As they emerged, April showed him the cookie and then turned and placed it in a red wagon. Donnie stood nervously at the threshold of the bushes, the purple sweatshirt hung down to his hips brushing the top of his thighs. The long sleeves, though rolled, hung over his wrists so that only the tips of his fingers poked through. He glanced around with apprehension and fiddled with the cuff of one sleeve.

Again, April thought he looked adorable.

She shook the package of cookies. The crinkling noise captured his attention. She made sure he saw her put the package next to the lone cookie in the wagon. She pulled her backpack out from the wagon to make room for him; throwing it over one shoulder and motioned for him to climb in. He only hesitated a moment before he quickly moved and climbed in with rigid, jerking motions. April heard the cookie crunching in his mouth and the plastic crinkling as she pulled the blanket up and over his head.

"Lay down and stay still, okay?"

Donnie's eyes peered up at her from under the edge of the blanket. One rounded cheek full of cookie. He trembled with fear. And she couldn't help but place her hand lightly on the top of his head before quickly taking it away before she scared him further.

"Don't worry, I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

She handed him another package of cookies which he took from her more eagerly. He shifted deeper under the blanket and April smiled as she heard him open the package. The sounds of him savoring and munching the cookies made her chuckle. Luckily, she'd brought more in case she had to continue feeding him to keep him in the wagon.

April hurried along, pulling the now heavy wagon as fast as she could down the deserted, shadowy streets.

Donnie peeked out from under the blanket. "Wh . . . Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

"Home," April said simply and with a little too much enthusiasm for Donnie.

A thrill of terror went through Donnie and he almost leapt from the wagon at that moment. But something stopped him. Did he trust this girl? This human? She hadn't hurt him yet. But there was no way he was going to let her capture him. Cookies or not.

As soon as he had the chance he was making a run for it.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If anyone suffers from writer's block, I'm telling you, just sit down and write. Even if it sucks, you can always go back and polish it up. But it really helps break you free from the inertia.
> 
> That interaction between Donnie and April was so much fun to write. C'mon, I know you relate. Who doesn't want to lure one of them home with cookies?! . . . on second thought, that really sounds bad when I read that aloud. XD
> 
> Don't forget to review!


	14. Building Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to answer one reviewers question, the boys ages at this point are as follows: Leo is 11, Raph is 10 and Donnie is 9 and little Mikey is 7. April is 8.

 

_"_ _Love; it will not betray you_

_Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free.  
Be more like the man you were made to be._

There is a design, an alignment to cry  
of my heart to see,  
the beauty of love as it was made to be."

– Sigh No More, Mumford and Sons

* * *

 

They stood at a dead end of a dry tunnel, wary and tired, casting about in the shadows. The gray rat leaned his weight against a wide horizontal pipe. With an ear-splitting creak, the pipe rose up until it came to a right angle from the floor. Yoshi huffed and brushed his hands together. He then pressed one shoulder into the metal plate in the wall that served as an entrance to his lair. It resisted for a moment, then swung inward with a sharp whine. Splinter exhaled and stepped aside. His amber eyes flicked to each of the little mutants.

They stood huddled in a group. Each face turned his way, watching him with a mix of trepidation and interest. He stooped and retrieved his cane then motioned for the children to enter before him. With hesitant steps, they obeyed and stepped into what would become their new home. They entered as a closely bunched group but their curiosity and wonder soon had them fanning out. Yoshi stepped inside just behind them and observed their reactions with a quiet calm that belied his anxiety.

Raph, still clutching Donnie's toolbox to his chest, was the first to move forward and slip between the turnstiles. He got caught, the toolbox making him a bit too wide to fit comfortably through. He struggled with a grunt and a soft growl until he raised it over his head and turned sideways. Leo and Mikey watched with interest then followed his lead, turning sideways with their arms raised over their heads as if afraid to touch any part of the turnstile. They stood gazing about, mouths open, at the expansive room beyond.

Several items of furniture divided the space into a living area and kitchen with more rooms across the way, hidden from view. Delicately patterned rugs laid across the floor. A metal stairway on the far wall led to a second floor. A small tree grew out of the center of the space. Its spindly branches reached upwards to the shafts of light coming from the distant grate in the ceiling high above their heads. The large oval leaves adorning the twisting branches were fresh and green.

They craned their necks as they followed the lines of light swirling with dancing dust motes. Daylight. Golden and mesmerizing to see it seeping through into the living space. So far underground and yet, here it was. The illumination it brought gave the entire room a peaceful glow. Even the purple shadows it cast seemed soft, inviting and welcoming. One by one they dropped their gaze and looked at each other. A slow smile spread onto Mikey's face as he pulled on the front of his sweater.

"It's warm in here," he noted in a hushed voice and wiped the last tear from one cheek with a finger and Leo and Raph could only nod.

They never knew any place underground to feel so warm this late in the season. Autumn was fast approaching and their home had only been chilly this time of year with bitter cold closing in that they'd have to shiver and shudder through. And it was dry. No drips leaked from the ceiling. No scent of mold or decay met them. There was a fresh scent; herbal and woody smelling. It was almost as if they were no longer underground.

"Yes. You will not suffer the frigid bite of winter here."

Yoshi pointed out the rectangular boxes set in different corners of the room. Red coils glowed from within. Mikey ran up to one and crouched down, curiously looking into the glowing inside. Raph stood where he was while Leo joined their youngest and gazed down over Mikey's shoulder at the strange device. It really was very warm the closer you came to it.

"Leo, look at this," Mikey said, scooting closer and holding out one hand to the warmth. "Why don't we have one of these?"

Yoshi allowed himself a small smile as the children examined his heater. It was an easy project that he'd taken on when first moving into this abandoned subway station to hook up and repair the heaters that he'd salvaged from an apartment building fire on the lower east side. He was lucky to not only find one that operated, but five others that needed only the slightest repair. Using the talents he'd mastered in his youth in the Jeitei, Japan Self-Defense Forces, where he excelled within the engineering corps, he easily repaired the heaters as well as hooked up electrical wiring for some of the small appliances he'd scavenged for his home.

It was a stress fracture in his right knee that led to his honorable medical discharge. An explosion when scouring for forgotten WWII land mines on the border of Poland had been the cause. He was lucky, but at the time, deeply unhappy with the course his life had to take. He was only twenty one when that had happened. More than anything, Yoshi wanted to feel whole again. It was when he turned back to his earlier martial arts training that he found peace. He found it therapeutic and it brought a balance he was sorely missing in his life. Despite his injury, he became more and more skilled as a practitioner of several of the deadly arts.

A howl of pain had Yoshi startled from his thoughts and rushing over to where Leo held a crying Mikey with one arm. Raph dropped the toolbox with a loud clatter and rushed over.

"Mikey!"

Yoshi asked, "What has happened?"

Mikey had his hand shoved in his mouth, sucking on both fingers; whimpering.

Leo replied, "He touched the-the red wires."

"Come along."

Yoshi took Mikey from his brother's arms and herded him towards the bathrooms. He gently shushed the crying boy and tsk'd. Leo and Raph followed on his heels.

The bathroom was a long narrow room with stalls and a large, free-standing bathtub with clawed feet at one end beneath a faucet. Several sinks lined one wall. Yoshi turned the handle on the faucet of one sink and after a burst of brownish colored water, it flowed clearly into the ceramic bowl. He took Mikey's hand and coaxed it beneath the cool water. He slowly uncurled his chubby fingers. His fingertips were red and painful looking.

"You must be more careful when you are not familiar with your surroundings, Kodomo."

Mikey blinked up at him. He nodded mournfully. "I will," he promised with a sniff.

Yoshi turned and nearly plowed over Mikey's brothers. He really needed to get used to having children in his shadow. He set a clawed hand on each of their shoulders.

"Your brother will be fine."

He looked at Raph's eye then at Leo, his gaze drifted downwards only to stop half-way down at his mid-section. A thought hit him. These children had injuries that needed attention as well. He turned and moved to the basin. He turned on the water and plugged the hole in the bottom. Yoshi watched the water filling the tub he so painstakingly had dragged and half-carried, slowly, but surely down the long tunnels to his home. Now more than ever, he was glad he'd made the effort. Though at the time, he wondered why he even had bothered. Cursing what he assumed at the time was a burgeoning insanity. But something drove him to bring it home and he obeyed the urge.

As he watched the swirling water foam and rise, he considered what he needed to do. It was not going to be easy. With a glance over his shoulder at the oldest boy, he sighed. Leo was quietly admonishing his little brother for not being more careful and to ask him before he touched anything next time. Raph stood to one side, shaking his head with his arms crossed. Yoshi did not want to scare this child and yet, he suspected,  _no_ , the blood on his inner pant leg told him without a doubt that the boy was injured and needed medical care.

He steeled his nerves. He had to act as their doctor now that he had them. He could not neglect their individual injuries now that he'd brought them into his life simply because he was squeamish or afraid. Being their guardian meant caring for them in all aspects. Not just giving them a roof over their heads and feeding them. If they were hurt, it was up to him alone to assist them in any way that he could.

And he meant them no harm, he reminded himself. He just had to convince the children of that fact. But he knew he was a stranger to them and most likely they would take it wrong that he wished to inspect such a private part of their bodies.

If only that vile monster had not violated the boy in this way, he would not have to face such a delicate situation so soon after bringing them to his home. He sighed heavily. It could not be helped at this point. What was done was done. He must focus on moving them forward and helping them to heal.

How was he to go about this? He ran a claw over his face. The only way one could. Taking one step at a time. But Yoshi decided to tackle the easier problem first.

He moved to a small brown cabinet near the sinks and opened the door. From inside he pulled several small towels, a roll of bandages and a tube of ointment. Raph and Leo watched him between checking on Mikey's fingers, still being soothed beneath the cool rush of water in the sink. He moved towards Raph and motioned for the boy to sit on the cover of a toilet. Reluctantly and with a jittery Leo watching their every move, Raph obeyed. Yoshi crouched in front of him. He squinted his amber eyes as he looked at the injured eye.

"Hm."

Yoshi stood up abruptly and left the room. A moment later, he returned with a glass jar. He unscrewed the top and sprinkled some of the tiny leaves and bits of what looked to Raph like sticks into his hand. He squeezed a bit of white gel from the tube and mixed the two together; crushing it between his fingers and thumb, before dabbing it onto Raph's swollen eye. An herbal, grassy scent filled the air.

The boy lurched back with a hiss, but once he felt no sting, he relaxed and allowed Yoshi to continue. Yoshi was surprised that the turtle who seemed so aggressive did not fight him as he applied the medicine. He kept his gaze lowered, but with a tilted head, he leaned into the touch. Almost as if he craved the gentle ministrations.

Yoshi dabbed more of the mixture onto his thumb. His mind raced. He had so much to learn about these children. In due time. It was late and he was sure that the boys were probably as emotionally and physically exhausted from the day as he was. After patching them up, he would show them their room.

"What are your names," Yoshi asked as he busied himself with applying the gel mixture onto the swollen, darkened folds of Raph's injured eye.

They were silent for a moment then the one behind him spoke. "I-I'm Leo," he said with some hesitation. "That's Mikey," he pointed behind him to the one with his hand in the sink. He waved shyly with his good hand as Yoshi glanced over his shoulder at him and nodded. "That's Raph with the black eye. We're missing Donnie."

At the mention of their absent brother, Yoshi felt his heart cringe. But he said nothing. One step at a time.

"Yeah, we gotta go find him," Raph said and pulled back away from Yoshi's hand. "We should go now," he demanded as he pushed Yoshi's hand away roughly, the aggression returning like a light switch being flicked. Though Yoshi could see the dark circles under the boy's eyes, he knew if he agreed this one would search for his sibling until he collapsed.

"No," he said firmly. "Not tonight." He patted Raph on the shoulder and stood up. "That swelling should go down soon, Raph-chan."

Raph looked up at him. "And who 'r you anyway?" he asked rudely with an accusing look in his eye.

Yoshi sighed. He once had a name. When he was human. Yoshi glanced down at himself. Did that name still apply? He was nothing like that man, now. The reality was, he had no answer to give. But they had to call him something. He turned to the simple Japanese honorific for an authority figure.

"For now, you may refer to me simply as Sensei. Please, go into the main room and rest on the couch, Raph-chan. Mikey-chan, you as well."

"Okay." Mikey stretched over the sink and turned the water off. Yoshi handed him a small towel that he wrapped around his sore fingers. He stared up at Yoshi and squinted. "When are you taking us back?"

Yoshi tilted his head and blinked. After a moment's hesitation he decided to just be honest and blunt about the situation. "I am not. This is your new home. Understand?"

A look of shock then sadness passed over the small turtle's face. His bottom lip quivered but he did not cry. The boys said nothing. They exchanged glances and with drooping shoulders, Raph and Mikey stepped out from the room. Leo moved to follow when Yoshi blocked him with an outstretched arm placed gently against his chest. The boy froze.

"Not you, Leo-chan."

Leo's face shot up and the bright suspicion and fear that flashed in his eyes made Yoshi flinch. He took two steps away from Yoshi; reaching behind him with clawed fingers. His shell hit the edge of the sink. His eyes darted around and suddenly he had the panicked look of a caged animal.

Yoshi raised his palms up. "I mean you no harm."

He glanced at the now filled tub and grabbing the small glass jar, he held it up to Leo to show him, then he crossed the room. He turned off the water and turned back to the panicked boy. Slowly, he sprinkled some of the herbs into the water; watching the turtle out of the corner of his eye. He reached down and stirred the water with one hand, mixing it. An exotic scent filled the room.

Leo rubbed his nose and sneezed. He grimaced with the action and leaned on the sink, slightly panting as he wrapped his arms around his middle.

"I only wish to help you, Kodomo. The bath will be soothing."

Slowly, he moved back towards the boy, inching himself around, blocking the doorway so that he would not be able to bolt from the room. But Yoshi doubted the boy was capable of moving quickly. He seemed to be in great discomfort with each halting step. Leo cast around; looking everywhere but at him and rubbed his arm. Yoshi could feel the thick dread and sharp panicked edge flowing off from the young turtle-boy. Every move that Yoshi made, no matter how small, Leo cringed away from him. His bare feet shuffled on the tile below. He was shaking.

Yoshi dropped his arms to his sides and sighed.

He finally stood completely still; feeling bad for making the boy so distressed and uncomfortable. Though it pained him, he imagined what must be running through the abused child's mind. Crashing waves of sadness and pity swept through him. Heaven help him, he did not wish to scare the child or scar him anymore than what had already been done to him.

Yoshi's ears flattened against his skull. Again, he internally cursed the abomination that was the black rat. His hands curled into fists. He should have beaten that foul beast to death. With a quick shake of his head, Yoshi bit back the swirling rage before the boy could feel it come off from him and get the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was for the boy to think he was getting angry at him for not complying with his wish.

"You are . . . in pain, are you not?" Yoshi motioned towards Leo's waist.

Leo glanced up at him then dropped his widening eyes to the floor. A deep blush spread across his cheeks just under his eyes. There the light green flesh turned crimson. He swallowed and shook his head in denial. Clearly embarrassed, Leo's throat worked. One hand gripped the front of his dark gray sweatshirt and pulled on it absentmindedly, keeping his shining eyes locked on the tiled floor. He looked like he was about to be sick.

Yoshi struggled for what to say. Again he had the feeling that he had no idea of what he was doing and felt flustered and frustrated. He took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose; whiskers twitching. One ear flicked back and forth in agitation. "You've been injured. Please, it is not my intention to do you harm. But, I-I need you to remove your clothing. T-To see-"

The boy's reddened face shot up. "No!" he shouted. His clear, boyish voice rang throughout the room.

Yoshi flinched, instantly regretting his choice of wording. The young turtle trembled as he shifted further away from Yoshi, towards the tub; looking even more afraid than ever. He jumped and whimpered when his shell hit the edge of the basin. He glanced behind himself then back to Yoshi. Terror and panic flashed in his sorrowful blue eyes. His cheeks remained tinged with heated embarrassment and shame.

"I will not hurt you, Leo-chan," Yoshi pleaded.

Leo shook his head again. A new look was there in those deep eyes. A broken look that said he would fight, but knew it was pointless to struggle. This helpless, resigned expression nearly undid Yoshi.

"No," it was more of a moan than a word and Yoshi closed his eyes.

 _This poor child. What has that demon done to you?_ He couldn't continue pressuring him. He would not. It was getting him nowhere. And was only frightening the boy.

"Very well," he said and saw the shocked surprise followed by relief wash over the child's face. Yoshi's heart constricted with pity and woe. He gestured towards the tub, "Please soak in the water. The herbs will help with any . . . swelling and ease your discomfort." Leo looked back into the water then slowly returned his sidelong gaze to Yoshi; keeping his head turned away slightly. "I will return in thirty minutes. If you need any help-" Again Leo shook his head swiftly cutting him off. "Very well."

Yoshi bowed and left the room without another word.

* * *

April eased the wagon up against the side of the garage. She lifted the blanket and Donatello peered up at her. His large brown eyes darted back and forth. Grabbing the sleeve of his sweater, she helped him from the wagon. He moved in stiff movements, grunting with the effort to climb out. He coughed quietly into his fist.

"You have to be really, really quiet, okay?"

With watering eyes, Donnie bit back the last of his coughing and nodded. Still feeling as though he should bolt while he had the chance, curiosity moved him to follow the girl into the shadow of a brick two-story building.

"Is this your home?" he asked in amazement. He straightened up and looked down the row of backyards on either side. Humans were so lucky getting to live inside buildings like this, out of the cold and damp.

April nodded and opened the back door. The screen door was propped with one foot as she turned to him. She brought a finger up to her lips to remind him.

Standing on the threshold, Donatello hesitated. Part of his mind knew this was a really bad idea. But the other part, the greater part, wanted to see what the insides of this building was like. A home. A human's home. Besides, this girl hadn't hurt him. Not yet.

Hesitantly, Donnie stepped through the doorway and was instantly shoved to the side. His feet stumbled and he fell with a grunt and hiss of pain. His body constricted with agony as the rough motion jostled his wounds. The bitter feeling of betrayal soured his stomach. Dimly, he heard April shushing him. He opened his mouth to protest the harsh treatment when the foyer was suddenly lit with a bright yellow light. With a muffled yelp, Donatello dove under the shadowy staircase and curled into as tight a ball as he could become.

"Who's there?" An angry sounding woman's voice filled the room followed by a human woman in a light pink bathrobe. Her strawberry-blond hair done up in curlers, a pair of thick glasses perched on the brim of her nose, a cigarette hung limply from her bottom lip. In one hand she held a baseball bat aloft.

April put up her hands, "Just me!" she squeaked.

The woman put the bat down and grabbed the cigarette with a thumb and forefinger.

"For cryin' out loud, April. You scared me half to death." She raised her head and peered at her niece with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing outside this time of night?"

April shrugged, her eyes darted to the stairs then back to her aunt. "Just finished working on my bike."

Her aunt considered her for a moment, her bottom lip pulled into her mouth, but not biting it. She nodded once. "Well, get on upstairs and get to bed. Isn't it a school night?"

April shrugged again and smiled sweetly. She made a non-committal affirmative noise.

"I'm gonna talk to my little brother about his parenting skills tomorrow," she said as she turned away. She paused in the doorway and twisted around, "Hey, how's that cough? Better?"

April froze on her way to retrieve Donatello. She knew he was probably terrified. "M-hm."

"Okay, good. G'night, honey."

"G'night." April relaxed as her aunt disappeared behind the closed door at last. She dashed around to the dark corner that Donnie sat in; huddled with his arms around his knees; head down. "It's okay now. Sorry about pushing you. That was my aunt. She sort of startled me."

"I want,  _cugh, chugh, chugh, cugh,_  to go home," Donnie said, clearly upset, as he wiped at his bottom lip with one baggy sleeve and April's smile vanished.

"But you just got here," she said sadly. "I wanted to show you my room. I said I was sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe."

Donatello's brown eyes bounced between April's blue. She did just hide him, he thought. So, that was her protecting him; keeping him safe, he would hate to see what she did to her enemies.

He rubbed the fronts of his legs, unsure. But the glum look on the girl's face made Donnie reconsider. Why she seemed to affect him so much, the little turtle had no idea. He only knew he didn't like that look and wanted to make it better. So pushing aside his own fear and discomfort he nodded his assent.

Her smile returned more joyous than before and Donnie felt himself grinning back at her despite himself.

She stood up and offered her hand. Donnie took one look at it then slowly reached up. As their hands fit together, Donatello felt a jolt go through him. He stared wide-eyed at her warm hand clasped in his before looking up at her face, wondering if she had felt anything or if he'd just imagined it. She helped him stand and said nothing about it, so Donatello filed it away into the back of his mind. Something to think on later. They quickly and as quietly as the squeaking stairs would allow, they made their way up to the second story foyer. April clung to his hand the entire time and Donnie didn't mind even though she tugged on him a bit roughly at times.

April peeked her head inside the front door and heard the indistinguishable sound of her father's voice on his conference call. She sighed in relief then yanked Donatello's arm forward until he shuffled inside her home. Head ducked, one fingertip posed near his mouth, he cast around with large round eyes. She pulled on his arm again and they hurried through the living room then down a long hallway. Donnie noted the springy feel of the carpet beneath his toes, how the room smelled of apples and cinnamon and faintly of soap.

Donatello felt his heart hammering but he was flushed with the feeling of being on a grand adventure and the thrill of it sent his adrenaline pumping through his veins. Wait until he told his brothers he was in a real human's house! 

_T_ _hey'll never believe me!_

* * *

Leo stood frozen watching the rat known as Sensei leave the room.

His thundering heart began to slow. His initial grip of fear abated once he was alone. Leo had thought for sure that he was in for more of the treatment he'd endured at the hands of his dad. He couldn't help but suspect that that's why they'd been taken. When he was told to remove his clothing an icy spike of fear stabbed through his core. He didn't want to do anything with this stranger. He didn't want to do anything with anyone. He just wanted to be left alone and not touched and groped and hurt like that . . . not  _used_  in that way anymore. He sniffed.

He couldn't have taken it, anyway. His stomach coiled and flopped. It hurt so much just to stand there let alone if the gray rat was . . . if he was . . . A tremor went through him.

A small voice in his mind wanted to believe that Sensei would not hurt him. Not like that. He did not have the glittering hunger in his eyes as his dad did. He did not look at him with the lust and heated desire that made Leo feel so small and frightened; helpless and exposed. But he was unsure. He had no idea why this rat had taken them. And for now he just knew he had to be careful and keep his brothers safe. He froze . . . no matter what was asked of him, he thought with a suddenly dry mouth. His wide eyes shot to the still empty door. Knowing he would do anything it took to spare them what he'd suffered, he trembled and blinked back the tears.

He would be strong for them. Keep them safe. If it came down to  _that_ , Leo would have to beg for just a little time to get better and only hope that this rat would not turn to one of his brothers in the meantime.

With a sinking stomach, he turned slowly around to face the tub. He reached in and felt the water with a fingertip. It was cool but not cold. Whatever Sensei had sprinkled into the water had a funny smell. But it wasn't unpleasant. Just strange.

With strained movements, Leo pulled the sweatshirt off his petite frame. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and with a deep breath, bent and slid them down and off. The material stuck to his thigh from where he'd bled and he had to tug with gritted teeth to get it loose. His eyes found the stain and with burning cheeks he clutched the fabric tightly. Embarrassment and humiliation wrestled in his tightened chest.

Somehow Sensei suspected that he'd been hurt and this blood was not helping him hide the truth. He balled up the accusatory pants and shoved them inside the sweatshirt on the floor with a soft growl. With one more glance to be sure he was alone, he squatted and reached down between his trembling legs and gently peeled his aching, crooked tail from where it was stuck to his swollen, bloody flesh.

Years ago, when Scrag had first taken him, when he was still whole, Scrag had gripped him by the extremely sensitive appendage. Grabbed like that, Leo could not help but follow the raging, instinctual urge to scramble away. But Scrag had held him tightly and cruelly yanked him backward. When he did, he snapped the fragile bones within Leo's tail. Over time the break healed, but Leo knew something wasn't right with it. At the time, the electric pain was the worst thing he had ever felt, at least up to that point in his life. But pain like he never could've imagined soon followed in its wake at the hands of his dad.

But ever since, his tail ached and hurt most of the time, the throbbing, consistent dull pain often gave him migraines.

His jaw clenched and unclenched and he whimpered with discomfort as he, carefully as he could, eased his tail by the tip from his bottom. It hung limply as he stood shaking. A fresh trickle of blood oozed down his inner thigh. His knees knocked together and he felt like he might throw up. Spots floated around the edges of his vision as he gripped the edge of the tub. He panted and pulled himself together.

He carefully began to lift his leg only to drop it with a moan. Bright and sharp, the pain speared through his middle starting from his bottom. Sweat broke out over his face and head. He couldn't do this. He moaned and looked back towards the doorway. But Sensei said something about the herbs helping his pain. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

He turned back to the edge of the tub with a determined breath and a sniff. He leaned his body over the edge, using his arms to lift him. His mouth opened in a pained gasp as he tilted forward and allowed his body to fall forward into the water. A huge splash washed some of the liquid over the edge and Leo popped his head up and wheezed. Panting with his eyes closed, he sat rigid and still, as ripples of agony ran through him.

Slowly, he unclenched his jaw as the discomfort began to ease with each passing minute and Leo opened his eyes. Blinking, he realized that the water and herbs had soothed his aching parts and before long the pain was reduced to a mere dull throbbing. A wonderful improvement. He let out a breath.

A wavering smile of relief spread across his face from the reprieve from his misery. This felt good. Really good. So much better. With the pain so went his worries and fear. He sighed and laid his head back against the side of the tub. Feeling exhausted but relaxed as his tightly coiled and tense body eased into the soothing power of the herbal water.

For the moment, Leo felt safe. And for the first time in a very long time he experienced what it felt like to be something close to content.

If only his brother Donnie wasn't missing. Leo opened his eyes. He decided that they would go search for him as soon as they could leave in the morning. A frown puckered his brow. He sat up. If Sensei wouldn't let them? He swallowed at the stirring of fear that tightened his throat but decided to worry about that in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to savor the healing feel of this water on his aching and tired body. But guilt stabbed at him and he made up his mind to bring it up to Sensei tonight before he went to sleep.

He eased himself back and rested his head once again along the curved edge of the tub. His right elbow was hooked over the side, fingers dipped into the water. As the minutes ticked by, the soothing vapors lulled him into a daze as he stared forward into the soft ripples his small movements made in the water. His eyes became heavy and he found his blinking to be slower and heavier each time. He felt warm and safe. Before long, his eyes slid shut and he slipped into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ah, a peaceful moment for a tormented child. I think I needed to write that nearly as badly as Leo needed to experience it. Sometimes I feel almost like I bit off more than I can chew with this story! XD See what happens when I challenge myself to live up to standards of not 'pulling my punches' as a writer? I get what I deserve, heehee. I just hope you are enjoying this harrowing ride. Thanks to everyone who is sending me PMs and leaving reviews. Getting your feedback is the very best part of this site.
> 
> More surprises are on the way. Please review...especially you...right there...Yeah, I see you, sitting there thinking, well, I dunno what to say...please, anything will do! Even a :) to let me know you're there!


	15. Falling Apart and Coming Together

_"_ _But I won't rot, I won't rot_

_Not this mind, not this heart,_

_I won't rot._

_And I took you by the hand,_

_and we stood tall . . ."_  –After the Storm, Mumford & Sons

* * *

 

Yoshi stepped into the living area, internally cursing himself for not handling the situation with Leo better, as he wrapped a bandage around the cut to the back of his hand. He looked up to find Mikey jumping up and down on the couch dodging the cushion Raph was swinging at him. The couch squeaked and groaned from the weight of the turtle. Yoshi's forward motion faltered. He paused in his tracks, shocked.

Mikey stuck his tongue out and waved his fingers next to his cheeks before bouncing again. "Jerk-wad! Raphie's a Jerk-wad!"

"Dumb-ass! Stick your fingers in some more fire!"

"Fart-sniffer! That wasn't fire, Moron-o-don. You're so stupid!"

"That's it!" Raph snarled and dropped the cushion as he leapt at Mikey's legs.

_"Eep!"_

They went down onto the floor in a shouting heap over the back of the couch. Yoshi rushed over to the tangle of limbs writhing and rolling along the carpets. They growled and snarled as they wrestled. Punches flew and before Yoshi could say a word, he watched as Mikey opened his mouth and chomped down on his sibling's shoulder. There was a brief second of breathless silence. Then Raph howled in pain.

Mikey popped him in the nose and scrambled out from under him, cackling gleefully. The older boy tried to grab at his ankles but the younger was too fast and escaped to the safety of the top of the coffee table. Several candles fell and scattered over the floor as he knocked into them.

Amber eye flashing, Raph bellowed, _"You . . ._ little _. . . fucker!"_

Mikey grabbed one of the thick candles remaining on the table and lobbed it at Raph's head. Raph ducked, but it struck the top of his head with a loud " _thwack_!" Raph's rumbling growl filled the room.

Mikey put his hands on his hips and swung them side to side as he said, "That's what you get, asshole!"

"I'll  _kill_  you!"

_"Kore o teishi!"_

Splinter's commanding voice froze the boys in place. The wild scene of chaos left Yoshi dumbfounded and mortified. Couch cushions lay scattered among the crooked and over-turned carpets, with the candles and votive holders everywhere. The language the little ones were spouting made his fur bristle.

He took two steps forward, ears flattened. "What sort of behavior is this? Fighting? Foul language?"

Mikey continued to stand on the table as Raph, rubbing his bitten shoulder, climbed to stand. Yoshi looked from one boy to the next. His outraged expression had Mikey slowly stepping down off the furniture. Raph glared at him but then turned his anger at Yoshi.

"Don't yell at Mikey again!" he challenged rudely.

Yoshi's furious gaze focused on him.

The flicker of fear in the boy's eye was so quick that if Yoshi had blinked he would have missed it. Still, he stood his ground, small hands balled into fists at his sides, chin raised defiantly up at him. Yoshi counted to ten in his mind then took in a long slow breath through his nose. He reminded himself that the boys' wild behavior was not their faults as they surely did not know better. The upbringing they had was apparently not one that instilled respect for other's property among other things.

Calmer, he squared his shoulders. He decided to go slowly with their re-education. Not having a clue as to how much he'd have to teach these neglected and abused children. He indicated the rest of the room, and said in a firm, but gentle voice, "Please do not climb upon the furniture." He let that sink in. "It's been a long day. Come with me, and I will show you where you will sleep."

Mikey and Raph exchanged glances and moved to follow the rat across the room and up the tall metal staircase. As they went, higher and higher, Mikey stopped to lean far over the railing. His stomach balanced his weight as his feet rose off the ground.

"Look how high we are!" he exclaimed.

Yoshi twisted.

The scene played out in horrible slow motion. Mikey inched further forward. The oblivious little turtle-boy was going to flip head over heels over the edge to the concrete floor below. White fear flashed through him like a bolt of electric terror.

Not another one! He wouldn't let this one get hurt or worse!

With wide eyes, Yoshi's arm shot out. He fumbled at and gripped the boy by his sweatshirt and yanked him back.

"No!"

His frightened effort was too strong than he'd meant and the child's shell and back of his head slammed into the bricks. He gave a startled cry and crumpled down to the stair just below. He curled up and clutched at the side of his face, trembling. Before Yoshi could apologize or offer an explanation, the other one was on him. A snarling ball of outrage and swinging fists.

"Leave 'em  _alone_! Leave Mikey  _alone_!"

Startled by the sudden outburst, Yoshi lurched back. After a few of the furious blows struck him, knocking some of the wind from his lungs, he grabbed and held the boy's wrists. They struggled for a moment as the boy tried to pull free or kick at him, nearly causing them either to tumble down the stairs or lumber over the railing. Yoshi dragged the boy to the side. He shook the young turtle's arms roughly, then held him still up against the bricks. Raph squirmed and bucked and gnashed his teeth. Yoshi kept him pinned. The child was strong but no match for the adult. His broken gasps hitched in his throat dissolving from growls to soft whimpers of fear and pain.

Yoshi crouched lower and spoke directly into Raph's wild eyes. His voice rough from exertion. "No! Kodomo! Calm yourself. Please. I did not mean to hurt your brother. He nearly fell. I was trying to prevent him from being harmed."

Shaking and trembling, Raph, who was accustomed to the severe beatings he'd earn after defending his little brother time and time again, braced himself. He set his quivering jaw and prepared for the fists to come raining down on his face, head and body.

It was the only time Raph ever felt his dad's touch. The one time he held him was to lift him and throw him into the bin filled with roaches. But Raph never thought about that. At least he tried his best not to. His terrifying nightmares did a good enough job of reminding him night after night.

Scrag had even beaten him unconscious several times after he'd tried to protect his younger sibling from the cruel games. Most of the time, his dad used his fists and tail to whip and lash him. Sometimes he used a pipe that left long dark bruises up and down his arms.

Later, when the pain wasn't so bad, Raph would joke with Mikey about it. He made up a game to play with his little brother where they would try to decide what the dark shapes looked like afterwards. Mikey would often ask him if it hurt. Raph would smirk and with a shrug reply simply,  _"You can't hurt steel, little brother."_

His breath huffed out in small bursts as Sensei held him fast against the wall. A tremor of fear went through him. What kind of beating would he get at the hands of this one?

"'M okay, Raphie," Mikey's timid voice wavered as he appeared from the lower step. He moved in close to his brother and clamped a hand on his shoulder. The same shoulder he'd bitten into only minutes ago. "Please, don't hurt him," Mikey pleaded to Yoshi and there was so much fear in those four softly spoken words, Yoshi felt his heart constrict.

The old rat could only shake his head, numbly. Of course he would not hurt this child.

Panting and huffing his breaths through gritted teeth, Raph tried to brace himself. He glanced sideways into Mikey's shining eyes and blinked rapidly. He wouldn't let this one hurt his brother. It was bad enough their dad did so often. But he just couldn't let this one hurt him, too.

Even if it meant he'd be beaten to death.

Raph shifted his gaze. He stared, blinking furiously up into Yoshi's eyes. He waited for the pain to come. But instead of fury or evil glee, Raph only saw bemusement and gentleness in Sensei's amber eyes as they watched him and slowly eased the grip on his wrists. The tenderness and sympathy he saw struck him as solidly as any blow.

"It's okay, Raph-chan. I will not hurt him . . . or you," Yoshi reassured him.

To Yoshi's complete astonishment, the boy's angry, challenging expression crumbled. His bright eyes shimmered as two fat tears broke free; streaking down the sides of his flushed cheeks. A broken, frightened noise rose from his throat and erupted from between his clenched teeth; as if he'd done everything he could to hold the sound back, but failed.

Yoshi's breath caught as a thick stream of tears followed the first two. He collapsed forward and Yoshi released his wrists and caught him loosely in his arms.

Mikey froze; shocked and scared. He looked up at Yoshi who stood, hunched over and clutching at the gasping, sobbing child, mouth open in surprise and helplessness. Mikey's bottom lip trembled and he wiped at the corner of one of his eyes.

"'M sorry. 'M sorry. M-Mikey . . . I-I," Raph's words were choked off with another sob.

Yoshi was at a loss. His own eyes burned suddenly with building tears.  _What has this child endured?_  

Slowly . . . gently . . . he reached up and stroked the back of the distraught boy's head. He felt the little turtle tremble at his touch and shushed him quietly. Raph buried his face into the crook of his shoulder and chest. The wetness of his tears worked its way through the fabric of Yoshi's robe as well as through his fur.

After a moment, he gathered him up in his arms like a father would cradle a very small child. The little turtle gave no resistance, but kept his face firmly hidden against Yoshi's chest, arms bent; wrists crossed protectively near his throat; one foot tucked under the other. After a glance at Mikey, he turned and climbed the rest of the way up to the second floor, carrying Raph tightly against his chest.

Mikey reached up and took hold of Yoshi's sleeve as he followed.

* * *

Donnie stopped just inside the room as April released his hand to quickly close the door behind them and switched on the light. He gazed around the cheery yellow room. The walls were covered with a mix of what looked like her drawings along with a large poster of a swirling cosmos in deep space. The twirling group of stars were ringed with a pink and purple hazy glow.

The ceiling was dotted with thick plastic stickers of stars of varying sizes. Lavender curtains and lacey white sheers hung over a tall window across the square space. A white dresser stood along one wall, next to it was a desk covered in paper, colored pencils, a tissue box and several plastic boxes full of crayons. A small trash can with some rumpled clothing sat next to it.

Her bed made up the rest of the room. It was unmade and huge to Donatello. Him and all three of his brothers could've easily slept on it!

The tangle of blankets were lavender like the curtains, only with a floral pattern interspersed with little fat owls and hearts. A pile of white pillows made up the headboard. Next to the bed on the floor was a pile of stuffed animals in front of a night stand in the same style as the desk and dresser. On top of the nightstand was an alarm clock.

A picture frame sat next to it with a photo of what looked like a much younger April standing in front of a woman with her arm wrapped loosely around April's shoulders, the other one was wrapped around her middle in a hug. They looked like they were cracking up about something. April's smile was huge and open, revealing several missing front teeth.

Just behind the picture frame was a thick, square box. A small pattern of flowers were painted over the top and sides with thin swirling green vines.

Donnie stepped over to the nightstand. He picked up the picture frame and examined it. April suddenly was behind him, looking over her shoulder at what he had.

"That's my mom," she said proudly. "But she's gone now. She died."

Donnie blinked and tilted his head. He studied the photo.

There was so much laughter and happiness in that photo. The way the two stood, leaning into each other. The bright smiles on their open mouths as if they were caught sharing a crazy, silly joke. Donnie couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth turn up in a soft grin. But for all the joy there, he felt a pang of melancholy strike his heart. Maybe it was the way April said she was gone now.  _She died._  He swallowed dryly.

He wished he had a mom. Even if for a little while. Mom's seemed nice to have even if they have to go away after a while. He set the frame carefully back down. He pulled at his fingers nervously.

" _Cugh, cugh, cugh._  What was she like?" he asked curiously as he blinked away the tears that came with the tight painful coughing.

April moved around him and sat on the edge of her bed near the headboard. She twisted around and grabbed a pillow to hug. Donnie looked around and nervously fumbled with his fingertips some more. The baggy sleeves covered most of his hands. April patted the bed in front of her when she saw him hesitating and not knowing what to do with himself.

He climbed up with some effort and sat down. He gave a little gasp as he sunk into the soft mattress.

"Whoa! That's very soft!" he exclaimed and then felt his cheeks burn as April chuckled. Was she laughing at him? Of course her bed would be super soft. She was a girl. 

 _That was stupid. I sound so stupid._  

He ducked his head and coughed into his sleeve. He felt his stomach flutter uneasily. He stared at his fingers, determined not to talk anymore if he could help it. That was the only safe way to avoid saying anything else that was so stupid.

She squeezed her pillow and dropped her chin onto the top of it. As his coughing subsided, she said, "My mom? Well, I was pretty small when she died. So, I only have a few memories of her." She turned her head and stared at the photo. "But I remember that. We were at the Indianapolis zoo. She was always laughing. She was pretty funny . . . and my dad loved her a lot. I did, too."

"Oh."

Again, he felt stupid for some reason. He picked at the blanket in front of him. A cartoon owl stared up at him with round eyes. He didn't know what to say. Donnie knew he should say something. The silence stretched out. Guilt tugged at his heart. She was sad and it was his fault for asking about her mom. He wanted to help her feel better but could only sit there feeling sad along with her in that strange room.

Suddenly, he missed his brothers very much and wished he were home with them. What was he doing in this human's house? In her room? He should be home with his brothers. He pulled on the front of the sweater he wore, the sudden lump in his throat making it feel uncomfortable.

April watched him. "Donnie, what happened to your neck? It's all bruised like you were strangled or something," she asked him suddenly.

His face shot up. He covered his throat with one hand as his face burned. "Uh . . . my, um . . ." He struggled with shame and humiliation. Finally, he managed to shrug. "I-I dunno," he said feebly. "N-Nothing. I banged it . . . I guess."

"Oh. When I first found you, it looked like you were  _bleeding_."

Donnie's eyes widened. He cast about the room looking for some way to change the subject, wishing this conversation would end.

"Do you need a bandaid or something?"

Donnie shrugged again, shaking his head. He didn't think so. Mostly he just felt sore and achy all over. He made a non-committal negative response.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked and leaned forward. Donnie blinked and felt his heart beating a little faster in his chest.  _Now what?_  

Finally, he nodded.

"Where do you come from?" she asked with round eyes and a breathless voice. "Did you escape from one of my dad's labs?"

She watched his eyes widen in fear. Then quickly asked, "Or are you . . . a cursed prince, or something? You could tell me! I wouldn't tell  _anyone_."

"Wh-What? A cursed p-prince? N-No." He laughed nervously.

He honestly had no idea what she was talking about. The comment about her father's lab made him feel a bit more of the earlier fear rise up. He glanced around. His eyes fell on the pile of stuffed animals then up to the picture frame. The laughing mom hugging little April out in the sunshine at the zoo. It made him feel safer but also at the same time, sad.

He knew he was different from the humans that made up most of the world. He knew that his dad always taught them to fear the bad humans and often told tales of what the humans would do to them if they were ever unfortunate enough to be caught by one. In their labs.

Donnie swallowed again. As to where they'd come from or why they were so different from the humans, Donatello had no idea. All the television they'd watched only showed him that there was no one else like him and his brothers and dad anywhere, apparently.

His eyes roved to his three fingered hands. He held it up slightly and turned it over before dropping it back onto the blanket. If only he were a cursed prince. Then at least one day, he had a chance to be changed back. Isn't that how the stories went? Didn't he read something once in a book he'd found about a frog or lizard that was really a boy? He sighed.

He wished he wasn't so very different. He wished they didn't have to hide all the time. Be afraid all the time.

When he and Mikey would watch television together on the rare occasions that their dad allowed them the freedom to do so, Mikey would often go on and on about all the places he'd one day travel to. Once he even said something crazy about having kids of his own to boss around. But Donatello knew it would never, ever happen. Not for them. Never. His little brother just didn't understand. He thought the stories their dad told were just to be scary or funny.

His little brother was innocent of the bad things that were in the world. All the bad things that could happen to them. The world was filled with bad things. Terrible things. Things that hurt. Hurt so much you wish you could scream and scream until you couldn't anymore.

Some of them even lived in the shadowy rooms of their own home. Lurking for the quiet stillness of the middle of the night. Then the shadow would come for him and take him away from the warmth and soft snoring of his brothers. Take him into the dark and make him do things. Things that made his stomach clench and feel sick. Then the shadow would hurt him. Over and over. But he never screamed. He wanted to. But he never did. He was brave, like Leo. Leo would never be afraid of the shadow that came in the night.

A tremor swept through him.

April's touch on his hand snapped him away from his dark thoughts. He trembled and gazed into her concerned blue eyes.

"Donnie," she whispered, looking scared and concerned, "Are you okay?"

 _No_ , he wanted to say.  _I'm afraid. I have to get back to my brothers before he hurts them because I'm gone. But I'm so afraid. I wish I could just stay here with you. Bring my brothers here. Where it's so warm and safe and you're so nice._ She'd keep them all safe. Wouldn't she?

He blinked and opened his mouth but instead of words, he erupted into a fit of coughing.

April scooted to the edge of her bed, then ran to the door where she'd dropped her backpack. She unzipped the closure and rummaged around the insides. She turned back and jumped up on the bed.

The jostling made Donatello wince. His back still hurt him where he'd been jabbed with the screwdriver.

"I think this might help." She held something small and white in her hand. Donatello frowned. "With your cough. It sounds just like how mine did a few weeks ago. Here, take it." Donnie only stared at the strange device in her fingers. "It's an inhaler. There's medicine inside. For your cough. Watch."

She held it to her mouth, depressed the top with her fingers and sucked in a breath at the same time. She pulled it away from her lips, holding her breath with puffed out cheeks, looking at him and bobbing her head from side to side. Then she blew out the breath and smiled. "You suck in the medicine, hold your breath while you count to ten then you can breathe out."

She handed it to him.

He took it and with reluctance brought it up to his mouth. He was nervous, but was so tired of coughing and the pain it caused. He was willing to try anything to make it stop. April nodded and encouraged him. 

 _Here goes._  He closed his eyes and repeated what April had shown him. Immediately, he sputtered and choked; dropping it on the bed; clutching his burning throat with both hands.

_"Ugh!"_

"Oh my god, did I just  _poison_  you!?" She squeaked and leaned forward and grabbed at his arms.

He shook his head back and forth, patting the air as she finally got the message and eased back. "I-I'm okay,  _cugh, chugh, chugh,_  just give,  _cugh, cugh,_  me a chance,  _cugh_ , to catch my breath," Donnie said between coughing and choking. He wiped at his watering eyes.

"Oh gosh, oh gosh. Sorry, I just thought it might . . . help you," she said, scrunching up her face in sympathy.

"April?" her dad called from the hallway. April's blue eyes turned into saucers. "Is that you coughing like that?"

April jumped off the bed and grabbed Donatello by the sleeves, tugging him towards her. Still coughing, Donnie panicked. She lurched back as he scrambled to his feet. Adjacent to the nightstand was a sliding closet door. April slid the door open and shoved Donnie into it. He covered his mouth with both palms; muffling any further coughing as best as he could. He pulled his legs in just as she closed it and her bedroom door swung open. She spun around with her hands behind her back, leaning up on her tip-toes.

"Hi!" she peeped.

"Honey, I thought I heard you coughing like crazy a minute ago."

She sucked in her cheeks. "Oh, um. Yeah, I was." She brought her hand up to her mouth and pretended to cough some more before clearing her throat. "Spit down the wrong tube."

Kirby frowned, mouth hanging open. "Spit . . . down the . . .?" he repeated slowly. Then closed his eyes and chuckled.

April stuck her tongue out and shrugged.

"Happens to the best of us, I guess," he said.

"Is your conference call done?" she asked causally in a bored voice.

He rubbed the side of his face, bringing his hands up under glasses to get to his tired eyes. With his other hand, he pulled them off with a sigh. "Yes. Finally." He moved and sat with a heavy drop onto the edge of her bed. "Things are very unsettled right now with the new owners coming in."

He sighed. "They just stormed in and took over. It's as if they don't know a thing about the science we're involved with at TCRI. They keep demanding more and more evidence of the mutagenetic properties of the chemicals we've developed over the last few years. And we just can't materialize out of thin air something to prove . . . to prove . . ." he trailed off with a disgusted shake of his head.

He glanced at his daughter. She was standing with her eyes darting from the door to him, looking nervous and unsure. He assumed she was concerned about his job security and internally chastised himself for making her nervous with his work woes. He gave her a reassuring smile.

"Ah, I won't bore you, honey. It'll be fine. Now, don't give me that worried look. I promised this would be our last move." He slapped his thighs and stood up. "Listen, you've got school tomorrow, so I want you to get to bed, okay?"

He moved close to her, embraced her in a tight hug then ruffled her hair and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. There was a slight shuffling noise that came from April's closet and Kirby straightened. He could've sworn it sounded like a soft intake of breath. He glanced at the closet door just behind his daughter. It was open a crack.

He blinked, thinking he saw something watching him. Squinting, he shook his head to clear it once more and blinked again. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 _Too much work. Not enough sleep_ , he thought with a chuckle, brushing off the ridiculous notion. "G'night, sweetheart."

He closed the door as April replied, "'Night, Daddy."

* * *

Yoshi tugged the blanket around the now subdued child, still sniffling quietly and his little brother who snuggled in closely; wrapping a chubby arm around his middle. Mikey buried his face into Raph's shoulder and closed his eyes; enjoying the softness of the thick mattress below and the plump pillow beneath his head. It had been so many years of sleeping on the bunched up piles of dirty clothing. This was like sleeping on a pile of clouds.

Yoshi rested a hand gently against the side of Raph's face.

"Rest now, Raph-chan. Things will be better come morning. Oyasumi no kodomo."

Raph only turned his face towards the pillow and closed his eyes. Yoshi watched them for a moment, his heart breaking at the sight of the two little mutant children and all they've suffered. With that thought, he stood up and quietly moved out of the room to check on the child he'd left in the tub; soaking his wounds.

. . .

He entered the bathroom, only to stop in his tracks. The boy's head was resting on his shoulder, mouth open, snoring softly. He was happy Leo had relaxed enough to fall asleep. With a small, pleased smile, Yoshi turned and grabbed a large towel and quietly approached the tub. The water was gray with the dirt and blood that had washed free from the child's body.

He stood for a moment, head tilted, considering the turtle-boy. A peaceful expression left the turtle looking very young and very innocent. Yoshi could see the bruising around the boy's shoulders and what looked like the scars of bite marks near the sides of his neck. A prickle of anger and disgust made Yoshi's fur bristle.

He shook his head and pushed away the fury. He did not want to frighten the boy again. The water must be very chilled at this point. Yoshi dropped one finger into the water. It was cold. He did not want to disturb this child's rest, but he could not leave him in the water all night.

As gently as he could, he placed his hand on Leo's forearm. He shook it slightly. The little child's peaceful expression vanished as his brows pinched into a deep frown. He moaned and turned his head from side to side, slowly at first. Then he groaned and shifted, head shaking back and forth.

"Leo-chan, wake up," Yoshi spoke softly.

The boy's eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. His mouth gaped and he gasped, then started to flail and thrash in the tub; trying to get away from Yoshi. Water sloshed over the side, soaking Yoshi's robe as he reached for Leo to calm him. His face shot around, eyes wild and confused.

"Ah!  _Ahh_! Wh-Where? N-No! D-Don't! Who are you!?"

"Leo-chan! Be calm!"

Yoshi grabbed Leo's shoulders. He felt the boy shaking violently and knew it had nothing to do with the chilled water. The boy struggled and slid into the water.

Yoshi lurched forward and held his body beneath his armpits to keep the child's head above the water. Leo's panicked eyes locked on him and Yoshi thought he saw recognition there. It was quickly replaced with terror and anguish. Leo clutched at his arms; pushing away at them.

He shook his head, "P-Please! D-Don't!" He gasped between words, "You d-don't unders-stand! I c-can't! I  _can't_!" his voice rose, edging towards hysteria.

He froze as his eyes locked on Yoshi's. His voice suddenly dropped into an anguished whimper, " _Please_ , p-please! I  _can't_ ," he begged with wide, shining eyes.

Yoshi felt as if he'd die from the pain in his heart. He shook his head, "No, Leo-chan. You don't have to-," Yoshi's voice caught in his throat.

He pinched his eyes shut. Sick that he had to reassure this boy that he didn't mean to molest him in any way. He sucked in a steadying breath and repeated himself, "You don't have to do  _anything_." His voice grew stronger as he went on, "I will not hurt you or your brothers. Not like that. Not ever. I will  _never_  hurt you like that,  _son_."

The last word slipped from his mouth without thinking. His mouth hung open in surprise as he blinked down at Leo who seemed to be hearing and slowly comprehending his words. And they were calming him, at long last.

Slowly, Yoshi released Leo's shoulders. He turned and gathered the towel from where it fell onto the floor. He held it out to the turtle-boy and with a shaking hand, and a wary glance, he took it and moved to stand. Yoshi leaned on his heels and turned his face away. Using the side of the tub to help him, Yoshi rose to his feet. All the while, he kept his gaze to one side.

"I hope the bath helped."

"Th-Thank you," Leo said meekly. "I think so. It felt very . . . good."

Yoshi watched him from the corner of his eye as the boy stared at the edge of the tub. After a minute, he struggled to lift his leg over the edge of the tub, only to drop it back into the water with a pained breath. After another minute, without commenting, Yoshi turned in his direction. Leo stood awkwardly in the center of the tub, face reddened, towel wrapped around his middle, at a loss. The bottom half of the towel was soaked from the water.

"May I assist you?"

Leo only ducked his head.

Yoshi moved to one side and took one of his arms and hoisted him up as Leo brought his leg up and over the side. He grunted in pain as Yoshi steadied him. The boy leaned suddenly against Yoshi with a groan. He shuddered and made a strange sound. Yoshi stiffened as the boy turned his face, fell forward and vomited onto the floor. Panting he looked up. Fright was written in his glassy eyes. He pulled the towel from his waist and began to wipe at the mess with trembling hands.

"I-I'll clean it!"

Yoshi fell to his knees. "No, Leo-chan. Leave it."

"B-But . . ."

"Leave it. Please. I will attend to this. Are you . . . Do you need to . . .?"

Leo shook his head. "I don't think so," he said and squinted his eyes and grimacing as he smacked his lips. "I'm really sorry."

"There is nothing to apologize for. You have been through a lot." He helped Leo stand. The boy looked around, obviously still nervous and no doubt uncomfortable for his lack of clothing. Yoshi walked him to the sink where he rinsed out his mouth. Leo straightened up and looked at him. Yoshi gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let me help you to bed."

Yoshi led Leo out of the bathroom. They crossed the room and stopped at the base of the stairs. Leo paled as his face followed the path of the long staircase to the top. The height along with the pain he was sure to feel trying to walk up all those stairs made him feel almost as if he'd be sick again.

"Can you manage the stairs?"

Yoshi watched as the boy struggled for a moment only to look at him and nod once firmly. He grabbed the railing and lifted one foot. He placed it on the step and with a grimace, pulled himself up. Yoshi moved to help him, but Leo shook his head, stubbornly.

"I can manage."

And slowly, but with steely determination, Yoshi watched, impressed as the boy fought his pain and pushed past it to prove his independence. The entire climb, Leo kept his sight locked on the next step. Then the next. Never allowing his vision to stray over the side of the railing to see exactly how high up they were going.

Yoshi followed behind him in silent admiration. This one had no small amount of courage and perseverance. At last, they came to the room where his brothers slept peacefully.

Leo's eyes widened as he peered inside. Everything seemed so comforting and dare he even think it? Safe.

"There is another cot," Yoshi pointed, "There."

Leo stood, leaning against the door frame. He turned and slowly raised his eyes up to meet Yoshi's. He licked his lips. "We need to go find Donnie in the morning. First thing."

Yoshi lifted his chin, considering the boy. It wasn't quite a command and yet, not a question. Yoshi gave him a curt nod of approval.

They could search for their brother. He would not deny them the right to seek him. But after a while, he would confess his fears of their brother's demise. But not yet, he feared they could not handle such a terrible blow at this delicate time of healing. But he would not let them go too long with false hope, either. There was no easy resolution before him. Yoshi only wished to protect them from any excessive or unnecessary harm.

The young turtle continued to stare up at Yoshi with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, he spoke very quietly as he dropped his face. "Thank you, Sensei."

Something about the way the child said the honorific moved Yoshi deeply. He felt the tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on Leo's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing him.

"Get some rest now, son."

And as the word left his lips for a second time that night, it felt as if pieces of some fateful puzzle were slowly slipping into place; filling an aching, yawing expanse of emptiness within him.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aw! Yoshi called Leo, 'son'! eee! And that moment with Raph on the stairs was very emotional for me to write. Hope you liked that. And we will get to Splinter's name . . . oh yes. You'll see! And don't think for a second that we've seen the last of Scrag... Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Even just to say HI! It's great hearing from you all. I love the feedback I'm getting with this emotional story. Keep 'em coming!
> 
> P.S. The line, "You can't hurt steel." Is something my mom would often say. She's one cool lady. That tough-chick-Mom of mine. I learned all my curse words from her! XD
> 
> Oyasumi no kodomo = Goodnight children, Kore o teishi = Stop this!, Kodomo = Child


	16. Beyond the Rainbow

"Pretty, pretty  _please_ , if you ever, ever feel like you're  _nothing_ …

You're fucking  _perfect_ …to  _me_." –Pink,  _Fuckin' Perfect_

 

* * *

April pushed open the closet door. Donnie emerged, glancing around nervously for any sign of her father. He said something about mutagenetic properties. Donatello didn't understand what exactly that meant, but he knew it meant her father was a scientist. Like the bad humans that his dad warned him about.

He was in terrible danger just being here.

"I want to go home," he told her. She'd let him leave. He wasn't her prisoner. Was he? He swallowed.

April's face crushed into a frown. "But,  _why_?"

"You're f-father . . . if he catches me . . . his lab . . . he has a lab you said. He's a scientist. He'll . . ." He trailed off unable to voice his deepest fears and trembled where he stood.

April raised her hands. "No, no. He's a good guy scientist, Donnie. He helps people with his work. He would never hurt you even if he found you. I swear to god. He's one of the good guys. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But he's not gonna find you. I promise."

Donatello rubbed at his wrists, feeling unsure and torn. She may not be keeping him here forcibly, but he continued to find it hard to get away. It was as if a part of him wanted to stay near her. Ever since she came upon him in the park, there was something about her that made him feel safe and comforted. Two things he hadn't felt in a long time.

"I promise," she repeated and squeezed his arm through the thick sweater he still wore. "Are-Are you hungry? Can I get you something?"

The cookies he'd eaten from earlier had upset his stomach. After not having much food in his system then filling up on the sugary snacks it left him feeling sick and a little shaky. Rubbing his gurgling stomach, Don shook his head.

"I'll get you some water, okay?" Donnie nodded. He was feeling a little thirsty now that she mentioned it. April turned and grabbed a small pile of clothes from the floor in one corner of her room. "I'll be right back," she said as she held up the clothes to him and slipped out the door.

Donatello stood, feeling jittery and anxious next to her bed. He looked at the nightstand and reached behind the photo frame to the decorated box behind. Once again he climbed up onto the squishy soft mattress and leaned his back against the pile of pillows. He pulled the box closer and examined it. His curious mind fired with sudden interest. He turned it over in his hands.

On the bottom was a metal knob. His fingers slid over the sides when he noticed tiny hinges. Using his thumb, he flipped the delicate gold latch and opened the top. It swung open like a small treasure chest. A small gasp of surprise puffed from him.

Inside a miniature scene opened before him. A ballroom was painted on the inside of the lid. A platform raised up and two figures stood on the dais; their postures that of a couple dancing. A girl in a billowing ball-gown and a . . . man. No, not quite right.

Don blinked in surprise. He wasn't human. He was something else. Donatello peered at the male figure holding the girl by the waist and her hand intensely. He felt a strange emotion stir in the back of his mind. April returned before he could understand the meaning of the dancing figures or decipher the mysterious feeling it caused him.

She closed the door behind her back. She was now in a pair of light purple pajamas. A yellow chick wearing over-sized sunglasses made up the front of her shirt along with the caption, 'One Cool Chick.' She handed him the glass of water. He took it with one hand.

"Oh, you found my music box."

Don drank the water down. He set the now empty glass on her night stand. He turned back and tilted his head. He gently shook the box. "Music box?"

"Yeah, you turn the little knob on the bottom and when you open it, it plays music and the little beauty and the beast dance."

Don blinked at her. He covered his mouth with his elbow as he coughed into it.  _Beauty and the what?_   She reached out and took the box from him. She wound the knob. It made a funny little clicking noise and then she reopened the lid. Don leaned in to see but nothing happened. April shrugged.

"My mom got it for me when I was three. Beauty and the Beast was my favorite movie and fairy tale. But it broke a long time ago," she added sadly.

He opened his hands and April returned it to him. A thought hit him. A flare of excitement sparked in his chest. "Maybe I could fix it for you," he offered softly.

April's face shot up. "Really? Could you? That would be so great!"

Don turned the box upside down. He saw where he could open it to get to the mechanism within. He nodded. The excitement and curiosity he felt bloomed with her encouragement and happiness. His cheeks flushed pink. A confidence he hadn't felt in so long filled him. 

_Yes, I can do it. I can fix this._

"I-I think so."

A shadow passed over his heart. He felt a flutter of doubt that turned into a black tide of anxiety. His dad's voice slithered through his mind. It sounded so real, he could hear it right in his ear.  _Useless. You're useless and stupid. The only thing you're good for is_ _ **this**_ _._  

His head ducked. His burning eyes clamped shut. He felt the presence of Scrag along the side of his face and back of his neck. Felt the oily fur as it rubbed along the inside of his thighs. The cramping pain with each thrust. The claws digging into his skin and wrapping around his throat and other places on his body. Squeezing too hard, hurting him. He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder as he shivered involuntarily. His heart began to pound. His mouth dried out.

Quickly he set the box down in front of him. Dropping it from his hands as if it had burned him. What was he thinking? He couldn't fix this! He was too stupid, too useless. Tears blinded him. Panic seized his body. He had to get out of here.

He moved to climb off the bed when April stopped him. She reached her arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. His body went rigid with fright. His mouth gaped and his breath froze in his lungs. He gripped either side of her arms and shrunk away just as she released him. He fell back onto the pillows, panting and staring at the space in front of him with glassy eyes that saw nothing but darkness.

"You're wonderful, Donnie," she said breathlessly, "I'm the luckiest girl in the entire universe. I'm so glad I found you."

The sound of her sweet voice brought him back. His vision cleared with a blink. Frowning, he looked up. Her blue eyes sparkled as they met his. His heart stumbled. Blinking rapidly, the shadow haunting his heart and mind melted away. Extinguished by the glowing light of her angelic presence. He stared into her beaming face. The wicked whispering voice faded replaced now with her soft chuckle. His racing heart slowed. The panic eased.

In that moment, there was only the two of them in the whole world. Nothing bad could exist with her near him. Nothing could hurt him. Not as long as he was here with her. He took in a deep breath. Then another. The comforting scent of apples calmed him.

"So, you'll try to fix this?" she asked as her fingertips touched the top of the music box.

He nodded mutely. He would try. For her, he would try to do anything. "B-But, I'd need some tools. Small ones," he said as he found his voice again.

April dropped to her knees and shoved her arms under her bed. Her muffled voice came from beneath the mattress. "Hold on."

Don gathered himself as she rummaged below. He tugged at the neck of his sweater, feeling warm. Uncomfortably so. He pulled it off and let it slip to the floor. He rubbed his bare arms. That was better.

He lifted his arm and saw that the cut that had burned him earlier was merely a long scratch and a dark bruise. The scrap hurt but wasn't deep. Tentatively, he reached between his shell and his side. His fingertips slid around his rib cage and back and he winced as they found the tender wounds his dad had given him with the screwdriver near the join of his shell and spine. There was a large springy feeling scab. He pulled his hand back and was relieved to see only a little blood. The gash throbbed now that he'd touched it.

He blinked as the bed bounced from April bumping it. He heard her muffled laughter and several items being shifted around under the bed. A shoe went sliding out to one side followed by a sock, a large doll and two worn-out looking stuffed animals. One was a floppy brown bear and the other looked like it might have been a turtle, by the shape and color. Don blinked in surprise.

When April finally reemerged, she had a rectangular pink box in her hands. "My aunt bought this girlie tool set for me when I was in my inventing phase," April said as she set the box on the mattress and blew a strand of loose hair from her forehead.

"April, lights out," her father warned from the other room.

April and Don stared at each other with wide eyes. "Okay, Dad," she called over her shoulder.

Don set the music box back on her night stand. Disappointment made his stomach sink. He really wanted to try to fix her music box for her tonight.

"Maybe you could try tomorrow?" April suggested.

Donatello swallowed. Tomorrow?

Though he hated to admit the truth, he couldn't escape from it. "I . . . I really should go back."

"What?" April set the tool box on the floor. She climbed up onto the bed and knelt next to Donnie. "You can't leave now." She looked around and bit her lip. Her blue eyes snapped up to meet his and Don gulped. "It's dark outside and dangerous," she added.

Don's eyes shot to the window. It was pitch black outside. Would he even be able to find his way to a manhole?

"Can't you just stay for a sleepover? Please?"

" _Cugh, cugh,_  S-Sleepover?"

Donatello licked his bottom lip. He felt split in two. Part of him wanted to get back home. Knew he should. That the longer he was gone, the more furious his dad would most likely be with him. But the other part never wanted to leave this room where he felt so many feelings and none of them bad. It was a good place. A safe place. And if he left, he may never see this girl again. The thought made his heart palpitate. He swallowed dryly. He just really wished his brothers were with him. What if Scrag was hurting them because he was mad at Don for being gone?

April suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of his. He again felt the jolt that he'd felt earlier when she'd taken his hand in the stairwell. He looked into her eyes to see if she felt anything. But her father's voice had her turning her head before he could see.

"April, lights out.  _Now_."

"Okay, Dad! Lights out!"

She scrambled and hit the light switch. Don's vision went black. He felt a momentary flash of panic spear through him. But then suddenly the bed shifted and he felt the blanket being pulled up over his knees and stomach. He leaned back against the pillows. The star-shaped stickers on her ceiling glowed a soft yellowish green. It really looked like he was staring up into a starry sky if he squinted his eyes.

Her lowered voice came from his left. "Just for tonight, okay? I want to talk all night with you before you have to go. Besides, one sleep-over won't hurt anything."

He felt her body shift and her arm went around his middle as she snuggled closer. She laid her head against the side of his shoulder. The softness of her hair tickled his cheek. The warm, comforting smell of apples soothed him again. He breathed it in deeply and realized with a start that it was April's scent.

He heard her start to murmur about the unfairness of bedtimes and school starting too early in the morning, then she started to list the things she hated about school. But he barely heard a word she was saying. His ears were filled with the rushing sound of his blood. Hesitantly, Don laid his hand on her forearm.

Secretly, he wished in his heart for the power to stop time.

* * *

Yoshi moved slowly through the now quiet of his lair. He cleaned the mess on the bathroom floor, put away the first aid container and ointment, and then emptied the tub and wiped it down. He gathered the used towels and Leo's clothes and placed them in the plastic crate that he used as a makeshift hamper next to the wash tub and wringer he'd scavenged years ago. The side was cracked but otherwise it was in useable condition. Yoshi considered burning the clothes, but decided he'd wash the clothes and keep them in case the child wanted them. After running them through the wringer a third time, he hung the damp items over a pipe jutting from the side of the wall to dry.

Finished in the bathroom, he moved to the living room. As he moved about the space, he straightened the rugs and picked up the cushions and placed them back on the couch. He crouched and retrieved the scattered candles and set them back on the coffee table. His ears flicked. He straightened at once. He glanced up at the bedroom on the second floor. Did he hear a noise?

He moved swiftly to the stairs and climbed them two at a time. Dread dogging his heels. He gripped the frame of the door and peered inside, eyes darting about, heart racing. The one cot was empty. Where he'd tucked in the two smaller boys. A rumpled pile of clothes and blankets littered the floor. He felt his heart stop.

He stepped inside the dark room.  _Where?_  His face shot to the separate cot where Leo laid sleeping. Relief washed over him.

Leo was rolled partially to one side. Behind and slightly below him, Mikey laid sleeping; his cheek pressed into his brother's side; one arm wrapped securely across his middle. Leo's right arm was draped over his younger brother's head and shoulders. Raph laid huddled tightly in front of Leo, his face hidden; pressed into the crook of Leo's shoulder and arm. Leo's left cheek rested on the top of Raph's head; his left arm was wrapped loosely around Raph's shoulders.

Yoshi carefully pulled the blanket up and tucked it around the children. Leo stirred and Mikey murmured something incoherent. With a soft sigh, Yoshi turned away from the endearing sight and headed back downstairs. He rubbed at the tense knot of muscles in the back of his neck.

He sat heavily onto the couch, lolling his head backwards against the cushion. Blew out of breath he didn't realize he was holding. His amber eyes blinked slowly. Exhaustion pulled on his body. He sat up and glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was after one in the morning. He ran a hand over his face, knowing despite his exhaustion he would get no rest tonight.

He stood up on weary legs and moved into the kitchen, deciding he would prep a nice breakfast to serve the hungry children. He opened the fridge and the light flickered within. Inspiration struck him. He was sure he had the proper iron to make it. He wondered if they had ever had waffles, as he pulled out a carton of eggs and a bottle of milk. It had been a long time, but he was sure he could remember how to make them. He used to love waffles. He stood in the center of the kitchen, staring up at the ceiling.

"What if they do not like waffles," he wondered aloud.

He set the ingredients down on the table and reached inside the fridge again and pulled out a bowl of leftover rice. Everyone likes rice, he thought with a smile. But then it fell away.  _Do turtle children like rice?_

He moved to the cabinets near the oven. Tugging on the whiskers hanging down like a long thin beard on his chin, he tried to think what else children like to eat. And what mutant turtles may enjoy. He set the tea kettle onto the stove and filled it with water. That would be for him. But the little ones. What do they like to eat?

He remembered seeing a turtle in a pond once and his father explaining that turtles ate fish and worms when he had asked. Yoshi blinked tiredly into the quiet of his lair. Well, he had neither of those things. Imagining placing a plate of worms and glistening gold fish in front of the children, he shuddered. No, that didn't seem right. Even if he had those items, he didn't think he would feed them to the little children.

He put his hands on his hips. But what if they enjoyed eating those things? They were turtles. Once they were turtles. Now, what were they? What were any of them? Well, he argued with himself, he was part rat but that didn't mean he enjoyed to eat what rats did.

With a huff, he ran a hand over his face. He decided to just focus on what he'd think any normal child would enjoy. Then he twisted as he thought some of the food he'd stockpiled. He opened another cabinet. He reached into and pushed aside several boxes of ramen noodles. He pulled out two large boxes of cereal. He remembered commercials of children eating cereal. He nodded to himself.

"Mikey will eat it," he said aloud and wondered blearily where the thought came from. He was really very tired.

* * *

After a while, April grew quiet and Donatello wondered if she'd fallen asleep. She'd asked him about a hundred questions from what was his favorite color to where he'd come from. Some he could answer and other times he only fell silent. She never pushed. She'd merely continue onto another topic or another question. Mostly, she did all the talking. All the time keeping her voice to a low whisper so her father wouldn't hear.

A long stretch of silence passed. It was his turn to ask something.

"A-April," he whispered and part of him hoped she had fallen asleep.

After a few seconds passed he heard her respond. "M?"

"Why aren't you . . . scared of me?"

He felt her shift as she shrugged. "I dunno. What's there to be afraid of?"

Don stared up at the glowing stars dotting the ceiling above them. He licked his lips and went on, "But I don't look like you. I . . . I'm a . . ." his voice breathed the last word, less than a whisper in the dark, " _freak_."

He felt the bed shift and her arm slid off of his plastron. He instantly regretted saying anything.

"You're not a  _freak_!" she hissed angrily. "You may not be a regular person, a human, I mean, but," she trailed off at a loss for words. "I just know you're the most special boy in the whole world. In fact, I think you're perfect."

He digested what she said silently feeling his cheeks warm. Her kind words bowled him over. She'd called him a  _boy_ , like he was normal and not a freak at all. And  _special_. And  _perfect_. A tumbling bundle of mixed emotions rolled through him. No one had ever said anything so nice to him before. Never in his life. Overwhelmed, he panted through his mouth as he laid his trembling hand over his pounding heart. He almost felt as if he may start to cry. Don pushed away at the building tears and swallowed at the lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat. His large brown eyes sparkled in the dark and he could just make out the curve of her cheek where she sat looking down at him.

April was the nicest, sweetest, kindest person he'd ever met, he thought fiercely.

Finally as she settled back down, near him, but no longer hugging him, he mentally noted with a twinge of disappointment, he said in a voice thick with emotion, despite his effort to sound casual, "Your dad seems nice. Even for a scientist." He cleared his throat.

"He is," she replied sleepily and pulled the blanket up over her shoulder.

"I bet he'd . . . never hurt you. Even if he was mad."

"Mmm . . . never. Never hurt no one," she mumbled.

"That must be nice."

There was a pause. "What do you mean?" she asked with a yawn.

"Nevermind," he said quickly.

"I'm sure glad I found you," she murmured as she nestled deeper into her pillow. After a minute Don could tell she had fallen asleep by the deep and steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Me too," he whispered, staring up at the stars glowing on the ceiling.

* * *

Scrag scurried around the shadowy room. He spun and twisted, feigning a fight with an invisible assailant. He turned and pulled out the knife he'd found on the floor in his home. He unfolded the gleaming blade and practiced stabbing the air in front of him with it. Then he slowly mimicked slicing it across a certain gray rat's throat.

It will be so easy. Cutting into that weakling's throat. If only he was prepared and not taken by surprise he could've easily overpowered the sniveling beast earlier. He practiced slicing across the air again. He chuckled darkly as he imagined the blood flowing from the bastard's throat. How he'd rub the children's smug little faces in it. That's what they get for abandoning their parent so eagerly.

He set the knife down near his bedroom door and pulled the curtain aside. He knelt next to his mattress where he'd assembled all the toys he would need once the killing part was done. Scrag had laid out the instruments all in a line. The belts, rope, and ball he used as a gag, the tools and the assortment of pipes; one particularly larger in diameter than the others. His fingers stroked the length of the last tool, imagining how he'd use it on the boy. How he would make him scream.

A wicked grin spread across his face as his glittering eye scanned the room. Rubbing his clammy palms against the tops of his thighs, he imagined how it would play out. After he killed that gray rat-man and rubbed their faces in his bubbly hot blood, he would tie the others up along that wall. He licked his lips.  _Yes_.

He'd make them watch Leo squirm and groan against the thick pipe, and then once he couldn't twist it in any deeper, he'd have the boy use his mouth to please him. And only then, if he felt the boy did a good enough job of satisfying him would he remove it. But he'd have work especially hard and do a  _very_  good job.

Scrag shivered and shook his oily black fur. He stretched out onto the mattress and closed his eyes as warm arousal spread through him with the pleasant thoughts.

Then it would be their turn. He cackled in evil glee. He froze as an idea hit him. His eyes, one white with blindness the other obsidian and glittering, widened in the darkness. His smile spread further. No, he would make them watch Leo suffer and service him, and then he would make them mount each other, one on top of the other, taking turns. He'd make sure Raph took the little one he was always jumping up to protect. 

_Oh, perfect!_

And if they refused he would beat them and shove the pipes into them until they did whatever he told them to do. Until he broke them. Each of them. And then they'd beg to serve his every need. And serve him they would.

Scrag's tongue lolled out from the side of his mouth as he panted in lust. Then he'd make them each smile and say how much they loved him. Scrag slid his hand down the front of his body. He groaned and writhed on the mattress as the evil, delicious thoughts swirling in his deviant mind.

Yes, they will tell him how much they loved it went he took them. How much they loved him. He was their daddy after all. All children love their daddies.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you want to cry, read the Don and April parts of this chapter while listening to Over the Rainbow by Israel 'IZ' Kamakawiwio'ole – why do I do this to myself? Well I was struggling with the title for this chapter and I found it in the lyrics of the song. Okay, I'm tearing up again. DAMMIT.
> 
> T.T Give my heart some comfort and leave a review, okay?


	17. Son's Scars, Father's Tears

_"Under everything, just another human being, ah oh._

_Yeah, I don't want to hurt, there's so much in this world_

_to make me bleed . . ."_  – Breathe, Pearl Jam

* * *

Mikey stirred. He lifted his face from Leo's side, a thin line of drool connected his bottom lip to his brother. Leo rolled over and wrapped his arm around Raph as Mikey sucked the spit from his bottom lip. He blinked and rubbed the crust from his eyes. He blearily looked around the dimly lit room trying to remember where he was. It all came flooding back in a rush that made him gasp quietly.

The gray rat called Sensei bursting through their door to their home – their dad shoving them into his arms, telling him to take them. A sharp stab of sadness speared his heart. He caressed his chest and looked to the doorway where soft light filtered inside. He glanced down. His fingers still ached from touching the bright red coils in the space heater, but not as much as yesterday.

Mikey slid backwards off the mattress, careful to not disturb his brothers. He moved the blanket up over Leo and crept to the doorway. A wave of delicious smelling air hit him. It stopped him in his tracks. He breathed in the inviting scent and closed his eyes as they rolled up to the ceiling in ecstasy. It smelled like some of the buildings they scavenged around; looking in the dumpsters for scraps. The ones with the crusty bits of pancakes and nubs of spicy sausages.

Oh, the sticky syrup he'd lick from the empty containers! He'd sit up against the brick wall just sniffing at them as he'd imagine what the food must have been like and how lucky the people were inside eating all the wonderful smelling food.

His empty stomach rumbled painfully and his knees were watery as he stepped out of the room and crept silently down the stairs. He followed the incredible smell to the kitchen. He staggered to a halt as his gaze hit the table. His bright blue eyes grew round with amazement as he stared at all the food laid out.

Huge golden waffles stacked high on a plate, a bottle of brown syrup and a jar of jam that smelled like berries, bowls of white rice next to larger bowls filled to the brim with cereal, toast with  _butter_. Butter! Mikey whimpered and crept closer. His eyes darted around bouncing from one item to the next. His heart hammered and his stomach cramped and pulled, gnawing at his insides. He swallowed the saliva flooding his mouth and licked his dry lips. He trembled as he fought the urge to grab the toast closest to his nose and lick the melted butter off of it before shoving the crusty bread into his mouth.

Stomach rumbling and rolling, his hands shook at his sides as he curled his fingers into tight fists.

But he knew better than to touch food that did not belong to him. This was Sensei's food. His breakfast. He had learned his lesson, over and over it was drummed into his head.  _Pain_  came with food.

He shook and the primal urge to eat was nearly overwhelming, but he backed away. Fear was also a primal force and Mikey had learned to fear whenever food was around. Cruel games came with his aching hunger. And pain was the prize. He only ever ate when food was handed to him by Leo or Raph. Never his dad.

But stupidly, every time his dad called him over, he reached out for the proffered items. Time and time again, ever thinking that  _this_  time, his dad was going to share and would not hurt him.  _This_  time he would let him have a bite or a lick or maybe a sniff without hitting him or calling him names. The names that stabbed him and stung just as much as the slaps and punches. Things like  _pig, fat, little sneak._

Blinking and ducking his head, he shuffled backwards from the table, pressing both hands into his stomach to make the pain ease. Another whimper wavered out from between his gritted teeth. A tear rolled down the side of his face and he roughly wiped it away with his shoulder. He couldn't touch any of it, so why torture himself? Oh, but the smells. They wrapped around his freckled snout and slipped into his mouth and down his throat and were choking him.

He swallowed thickly and turned away from the table. He scurried to the couch where he threw himself onto the cushions. He covered his head with his arms and burrowed his nose into the cushions, trying to forget what he saw and the delicious scent that was driving him crazy. The smell of something slightly musky and with a hint of an exotic spice reached him. It was Sensei's scent.

Trying to turn his mind away from the awful hunger, Mikey peered over the side of one of his arms. Where was Sensei anyway? Curiosity urged him to find out. He pushed himself up to sitting and glanced around. He dropped to his feet and moved around the room, further from the kitchen until he found a set of doors. Pushing gently they swung inward without a sound.

Mikey stepped through into a wide room. Several thick mats covered the floor. On one wall, it looked like there were weapons hung.  _Weapons_! His eyes roved around, spotting Sensei in the center of the room. Mikey froze in place.

Sensei was bare-chested. His robe tied around his waist; eyes closed. He moved in a strange way; swinging his arms out and turning, then jabbing and circling his arms back around over his head and out to the side before spinning around and bringing his foot down onto the mat below his feet. His tail swung side to side in a silent arc as he moved. Mikey crept closer unable to tear his eyes away from the graceful, exotic movements.

His mind raced and he remembered where he'd seen something like this before. The television! Mikey had gotten to see part of a movie where a man was moving like that. He had thought it was the coolest thing he'd ever seen. Sensei knew karate like that one guy . . . Jet Li!

"Wow," he breathed as he crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees; chin resting on his curled fingers.

The gray rat froze and cracked an eye open. Then he resume his movements until he turned and came to stand in front of Mikey. "Good morning, Mikey-chan. Did you sleep well?"

"What were you doing? Are you a karate master?" Mikey asked, with round eyes that stared up at him.

"A karate master?" Yoshi repeated slowly and tilted his head. He chuckled. "I practice martial arts, yes. But a master?" He chuckled again softly, shaking his head. "We are all ever students."

Mikey turned his head and blinked, soaking in what Sensei said. Mikey's gaze fell on a neatly stacked pile of light brown boards. He jumped to his feet and dashed across the room. Yoshi's eyes followed him. Curious, Yoshi moved closer.

Mikey spun around holding a rectangular board up between two hands. "Could you break this board!?" he asked in wild wonder.

"Wh . . .? Uh."

Before Yoshi could speak, he heard the doorway swing open. He twisted to see Leo and Raph enter. They looked around then spotted Mikey. An expression of relief washed over both their faces.

"Mikey!"

"What are you doing? Put that down," Raph snapped.

"Guys! Sensei is a karate master! He's gonna break this board for us!"

Yoshi lifted a finger and opened his mouth to correct the exuberant boy, but only a sigh escaped from him as Mikey ran to the center of the room and held up the board. Legs splayed, board directly over his head, Mikey shouted, "I'm ready!"

Yoshi stepped closer and took it gently from him as his brothers sat down to one side, watching him closely.

"Wait, don't I have to hold it up for you?"

"Uh, aheh, Kodomo, I do not wish for you to be hurt," Yoshi started to explain.

Mikey cut him off and jumped to the side. "Oh, I know!"

Helpless, Yoshi watched as Mikey ran to the far side of the room where a bench was propped up with several bricks beneath. He struggled and pulled out four, stacking them beneath his chin as he wobbled back to where Yoshi stood, dumbfounded and feeling more than a little uncertain. Mikey stacked two bricks on each side and smiling, he presented the stand with two hands.

"Put the board on there, then!" He ran over to his brothers and sat on his knees, eagerly leaning forward to watch.

Yoshi blinked as he held the board awkwardly in his grasp. He looked from the children watching him with intense interest to the board in his hands to the bricks and back to the board. With a sigh through his nose, he set the board across the bricks and turned. He bowed low to the boys, hands clasped near his chest. Then he turned and in one swift, powerfully graceful move, he brought the heel of his hand down and through the board.

The loud gasps from the boys followed the loud crack of the board. As he turned back to them, they were already on their feet, running towards him to get a closer look.

They all spoke in a rush of excitement and wonder at once, "Did you see  _that_?" "Holy crap!" " _Damn_!" "Snapped it in two!" "Wow!" "He  _splintered_  it to pieces!" "That was the  _coolest_  thing  _ever_!"

The warmth of their amazement and admiration made Yoshi smile despite himself. He chuckled and brushed his hands together. Their astounded glances shot from him to the board and back again.

Mikey stooped and picked up several of the pieces. "It's all broken to bits!" he exclaimed. "You splintered it alright! Just like our door back home!"

Leo and Raph fell into an uncomfortable silence at the mention of what had happened yesterday. Their excitement dimmed. But Mikey was unfazed.

"You know what! That should be your name!" he went on in a thrilled voice, nearly shouting, and pointed at him, "Splinter!  _Master Splinter!_  I'm calling you Splinter from now on!"

Yoshi blinked, considering the name, rolling it quietly over his tongue. He wasn't so sure about the 'master' part, but there was something about Splinter. It fit. Oddly enough, it did. A smile spread across his face. He couldn't help but like it. He chuckled and ducked his head.

"Very well. I must admit I like the name. You may refer to me as Splinter or Sensei as you wish." He looked from the smallest child bouncing up and down on his toes to the older two standing to the side looking a little shy and nervous. They seemed to have quieted down. Perhaps they were just hungry, he mused. He pulled the sides of his robe up and slipped his arms through the sleeves; adjusting his belt. "I am sure you are all hungry this morning. Come, I have prepared you breakfast."

Mikey froze and the boys exchanged quick glances. Splinter stood at the doorway. He turned to them.

"Come along."

He watched, bemused as the three children grouped themselves into the protective huddle he recognized from the other day as they traveled through the tunnels. What was making them so nervous that they unconsciously were seeking comfort from each other's presence? Was it something he'd done or said? Unease rippled through Splinter as he held open the door and the three shuffled past him. Their anxiety was palpable. It made Splinter feel anxious. He gave his head a short shake, trying to clear it. They were probably just very hungry. He followed their hesitant footsteps towards the kitchen. They stopped just out of reach of the table. Splinter scurried around them and pulled out a chair.

"Please . . . sit down."

They exchanged glances and dropped their faces. Splinter was even more confused. What was this now? No one moved for a moment and Splinter's whiskers twitched. This was very strange behavior. He stepped around the table and pulled out the other chairs. Still they did not approach. The unease returned with a vengeance and tightened into a coil in his gut.

He glanced at the food he'd prepared and set up. Was this not appetizing? Perhaps they did want worms and fish . . . But no, he distinctly heard one of their stomachs rumble loudly. He slowly sunk into one of the chairs and pulled a mug of cooling tea towards himself. He wondered if they were made to wait until the black rat had eaten before they were allowed to join. An idea struck him.

Casually, he reached for a piece of toast. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them watching him. He nibbled the edge of it, feeling guilty for eating even this small amount in front of the obviously malnourished youngsters. He set the toast down and rubbed his stomach.

"I am quite full," he attempted. He turned to them. "Will you not join me, now that I have had my fill?" His amber eyes flicked from one to the other. A moment passed in silence, then another and Splinter started to feel frustrated. "Please." They only dropped their faces again. Raph's hands were in fists; eyes closed. Splinter huffed. Enough of this. "Sit down," he commanded, hands on his hips.

The boys flinched and slowly, with Leo in the lead, they moved towards the table. At least, he and Raph did. Mikey remained where he stood, looking at the ground and rubbing one arm. Leo and Raph sat but did not begin to eat. A strained tension filled the spaces around them. Splinter frowned. He picked up a fresh piece of toast and stood up. Leo's face snapped up and Raph stood. Splinter turned to them.

"Eat, children," he said firmly. He turned back to Mikey and stood in front of him. The boy's bright blue eyes stared at the toast in his hand as if it were some weapon he wielded. Splinter held it out to him. "This is for you, Mikey-chan."

Slowly, Mikey raised his glassy eyes up, all the way up to meet his. Splinter noted his bottom lip quivered as it dropped into a pucker. Splinter held it out to him, closer. He saw the boy's chest begin to heave as if he were about to cry but was fighting it.

"I . . . I'm not . . . hungry," he said softly and with a great amount of difficulty. Mikey turned away and Splinter caught his arm.

"I do not believe that." His harsh tone betrayed the frustration he was feeling.

Mikey's face shot up. He cowered and began to shake. His eyes were round orbs of terror. Splinter stopped himself. Immediately, he released the child's arm and straightened; internally chastising himself as a damn fool. When would he learn to control his manners around these children? He did not want to frighten the poor boy.

He took in a slow breath and tried to sound light-hearted as he said, "Come now, I can hear your stomach growling from across the room. Please," Splinter urged. Mikey merely inched further away. He looked ill; face pale.

He thought of something that made his own stomach cramp with sudden fury. It was too awful to consider, but after some of the horrors he'd realized the children had been put through, he could not deny the possibility. "I-It is not poisoned." He went on in a hoarse voice barely above a whisper, "Kodomo, have . . . have you been poisoned before?"

Mikey took a step away from the toast and shook his head with a jerk. Splinter's shoulders sagged with relief. He turned his head and studied the toast in his hand. A line of butter had dribbled down to the corner and had dripped to the floor. Then what was this about? What was he missing?

A voice spoke up from behind, "He would hit 'em."

Splinter twisted around.  _"What?"_  

Raph was standing just behind him. "Mikey would get food offered but whenever he tried to take it . . . our dad . . . he would hurt 'em. He would . . . slap him or hit him until I . . . made him stop."

Behind him, Leo stood with his shell to the table watching them. His head dropped in shame. Splinter stared at the boy with the amber eyes, one still deeply blackened, reading the truth written there. The terrible truth. Splinter's throat worked, but no sound came from him. He could only stare at Raph and blink, stupidly.

Of course the beast would torment them. All of them. What a fool he was to think the youngest had come from that place unscathed.

Splinter's gaze inched its way over to Leo, who stood nervously holding his trembling hands in front of his stomach. His sad deep eyes stared back mournfully before they dropped to the ground, full of unimaginable shame. The black rat had molested and raped the child there at the table. Splinter's eyes fell back to the tough little child with the flashing angry eyes before him. All of his roiling fury at such a tender age. The black rat had viciously beaten this one and by the looks of the countless bruises and scars (and were those  _burn_  marks?) lining his bare arms and legs, it had been done often and cruelly.

And now the youngest . . . tortured with the false promise of being able to  _eat_? And what of the child he had lost? The little turtle-boy had been strapped to the grate. He had the screwdriver positioned to tear and rend into his crotch. Surely, it would have mangled and disfigured the boy if he had not interrupted the foul act. Burning bile rose up in the back of his throat and it took all his strength not to vomit where he stood; shaking in rage.

His eyes slid shut. This strange, frightened behavior regarding eating was simply more evidence of all the evil done to these innocents. Evil he couldn't before have ever guessed at. What was worse, he knew, was that he'd only just started to learn what they had gone through. There was more to come, he was sure.

His vision swam with burning tears. Exhaustion from a night of no sleep and the weight of this new knowledge of the children's awful suffering left him emptied out and hollow. No. It was too much. Hamato Yoshi could not withstand to learn more. He did not want to. He twisted around and felt the world dipping to one side. He felt time become surreal and the weight of the horrid cruelty of the world pressed down on him. He brought one trembling hand to shelter his eyes.

The unfairness. The hideous monstrosity of it all. He felt sick. He felt overwhelmed. He felt crushed and defeated by their suffering. This was too much.

Panic lanced his heart. He could not do this. His spirit could not take this and leave him unscathed. God help him, he was too weak to do this. He needed to find a place to take them to. He couldn't be tasked with this terrible challenge. How could he help them heal from the nightmares they had endured?

No. He could not. He was not strong enough. He did not know what to do. Not strong. Too weak. Too craven to face anymore of this horror.

He looked down with a start as he felt the toast in his fingers being slightly tugged on; interrupting his downward spiral of cowardly thoughts. Mikey, looked up, watching him intently as he carefully took it out of his hand. Splinter felt his legs weaken as he slowly crouched down to the child's level. Mikey held the toast with two hands close to his chest. Face to face, Splinter stared into his eyes. He brought his hands up and held onto the boy by his upper arms, gently, but firmly.

"Master Splinter . . . I know you won't hurt me," Mikey said quietly in a little voice.

Hamato Yoshi was gone. The cowardly man full of petty jealousy and greed had died the day fate changed him from a man into something better. It only took such a long time before he realized and come to understand what it was exactly that he was changed into. But now he knew. These children would give him the strength he needed. 

 _His_  children.

Splinter pulled him into a tight embrace. He hugged him furiously against his chest and shook as he said fiercely through his tears, " _No_. No, I will not."

* * *

Donnie opened his eyes only to drop them closed again. The scent of apples filled him and he smiled. It was the best smell in the entire world. Breathing it in deeply, he snuggled further into the softness that surrounded his body. It enveloped him and he sighed with contentment. The world was a mushy, cozy pillow of comfort. He had slept all night without waking; soundly and without nightmares. It was the first time in a long time that he did.

But then the familiar itch began in the center of his throat. His chest squeezed. He frowned. It grew until he couldn't deny the urge any longer. His cough burst roughly from his chest. It seized his body with rasping chokes. He sat up, wheezing and coughing, dimly aware that he was alone in April's bed. The door swung open and before he could move, her father stepped into the room.

"April? God, that nasty cough . . ."

Kirby stopped what he was saying and froze. A backpack hung from his left hand. His mouth gaped as he stared at Donatello who had a very similar shocked expression on his own face. Distantly, behind the man, Don could hear the sound of rushing water and the muffled sound of a girl's voice singing.

"Mother of god." Kirby dropped the bag and began to circle the bed. "What is that? What the hell is that?!"

Breaking free from his stunned shock, Donatello could only think one word,  _MOVE_!

He kicked free of the blankets and scrambled off the edge of the bed. Kirby lurched back with a revolted shout. Donnie dashed past him through the door, mouth open in a silent scream as he slammed into the opposite wall then raced down the hallway. The sound of the man's footsteps followed close behind.

He turned left, not remembering which way April had brought him through the home and found himself in a brightly decorated kitchen. Did they go through a kitchen last night? Donnie wracked his brains as he heard a door slam and April's frightened voice calling for her dad then for him. The sound growing louder and more frantic and upset with each passing second. He spun around to find Kirby standing, legs splayed, arms out to the sides, blocking the way back to the exit. Don shuffled his feet quickly back until his shell hit the counter and he yelped in fright.

He was trapped.

Kirby babbled to himself. He ran one hand through the thinning red hair on the top of his head as he shifted side to side with each move Donnie made. "Oh my god. My  _god_. It's a mutant. A mutant! It has to be. A r-reptile by the looks of it. But how . . . how did it get . . .?"

"Dad!? Dad!?" April slammed into him from behind and they both lurched forward, Kirby's black socks skid along the linoleum floor before he stopped their forward progression and forced her back.

"Get back, April! Honey, get me my cell phone. Right now."

"What? No, Daddy! That . . . That's . . ."

Donnie inched further away from the man. Heart pounding, he cast around for any other way out of the room. There was none but the path that April's father blocked. His terrified gaze shot to April who peered over her father's shoulder, struggling to hold her back. She shook her head in apology. Her hair wet from the shower.

"A mutant. Yes, sweetheart. It's real. It's real," he babbled, "but I won't let it hurt you. It must have been formed from some of our lab's mutagen. S-Somehow . . . we've had odd reports. No one took it seriously . . ." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Just run and get me my phone!"

_"No!"_

Kirby grabbed a kitchen chair and held it out to Donatello like a lion tamer holding off a lion. He twisted and looked at his daughter.

"I said get me my phone,  _now_ ,  _dammit_!" he shouted.

April shook her head stubbornly. "Listen to me, Daddy. You have to calm down. That is not a mutant."

"What!?" Kirby lowered the chair and turned to face his daughter.

April ran two hands through her hair and pulled it in frustration. "Yes! Yes, he's a turtle-boy. But what I'm trying to tell you, is –"

Before she could finish her sentence, Donatello dashed forward and shoved Kirby to the side as he scrambled between them with a frightened shout and ran into the living room. He stumbled and caught himself, then threw his body towards the front door. He latched onto the knob just as it turned and the door swung open.

April's aunt walked through. She collided with the small turtle and he fell backwards onto his shell with a pained grunt.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What a klutz I am." She said and reached down to help him up with she froze. Her eyes turned to saucers and her mouth slowly formed a large 'O'.

An ear-splitting shriek had Donatello scrambling around on his hands and knees. Jaw clenched, he bolted through the door as her aunt continued to scream and holler. Donnie felt the air squeezing from his lungs as he added to the cacophony with his own scream as he dashed to the top of the stairs. His feet tangled together and he slipped and rolled head over heels, bouncing painfully down the stairs. He landed in a heap at the bottom of the steps. Head spinning, heart pounding, stars dancing before his vision he felt someone jump on him and he moaned.

April's frantic voice rattled in his ears. Her words barely separated, they formed one long sentence, "Donnie, oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I can't believe this happened! Are you okay? My dad is freaking out! What happened? How did he find you? Are you okay? Can you talk? I'm so, so sorry!"

Donatello blinked up at her, catching his breath. He rose up on his hands and knees. The hurried sound of footsteps pounded above their heads. Her father was coming! He gasped and looked desperately at April. She nodded and stood up.

"You have to get out of here!" She ran to the back door and unlocked it. She pulled it open. Donatello stumbled forward and lumbered outside with her following close behind. They ran through the backyard into the alley beyond. Donatello paused, his face whipped around. He started to cough and rested his hands on his quivering knees.

"Where do you need to go?" April asked frantically. Donatello looked up at her, then his face snapped around as the sound of the screen door slamming behind reached them.

Distantly, they heard her father's voice as he yelled into his cell phone. "Stockman? It's O'Neil here. You won't believe this! No, no! Dammit, man, listen to me! I have the proof Oroku Corp has been on our asses about. No, I am not joking! Get your ass over here!"

April pushed Donnie forward and spun around. He ran a few steps then looked behind. April waved him on.

"Just move it!" she hollered and disappeared back towards the garage. He turned to run but glanced once more over his shoulder just as April suddenly dashed back into the alley, pulling a bicycle alongside her. She threw her leg over the side and pumped the pedals until she caught up to him. Tires skidding in the gravel below, she stopped.

"Climb on!"

Donnie looked helplessly at it and shook his head. She patted the handlebars and he got the idea. He clambered up and with shoulders pinned to the sides of his cheeks, April started up the bike and pedaled madly down the slope of the alley. Each bump and jolt had Donatello wincing in pain as it shot through his bottom and back. He clenched his jaw and panted, trying to breathe through the agony.

As she pulled to the left to turn onto the block leading back towards the park, Donnie nearly flew off. He yelped and clamped his eyes shut as people dove out of their path; shouting and throwing curses at them as they sped past. There was a bump and a screeching noise as April hit the grassy slopes of the park. The bike lurched to the side and both children were tossed off in a rolling, grunting heap. April raised up on her elbow and blinked to clear her vision in time to see Donatello stumbling to stand and then running towards the far side of the park.

"Wait for me," she cried breathlessly and got up to follow him.

* * *


	18. Source of Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, pups. I mean it.

* * *

_"Tragedy should be used as a source of strength"_ \- Tibetan saying

* * *

Jaw clenched, heart hammering, Donatello ran. 

His legs pumped as fast as he could make them go. The grass beneath his feet was damp with the morning dew and he slid and tumbled backwards onto his shell. Another bolt of pain shot through him. It circled around from the center of his shell and backbone to his ribs. He gasped. The slope of the ground had him gaining speed as he skidded down to the edge of the water. He struggled and stood up on wobbly legs. His head spun and he lurched to the side but righted himself before he toppled over.

He dashed towards the wide storm drain from where he emerged yesterday. The water level was already much lower and the slower current was easier to manage. His feet splashed into the ice cold water and he gasped from the shock of it against his ankles. A fit of coughing seized him, slowing his steps.

"Wait! Wait Donnie!" April shouted. "Please!"

He hesitated for a minute just inside the tunnel at the sound of her voice. He twisted around, peering sharply into the foliage surrounding the opening of the storm drain. Her pleas for him to wait pierced into his pounding heart.

"I can't," he whispered aloud.

With a shake of his head and a skip, he kept going. He really liked April and thought he could trust her, but most likely, her father was not far behind. That was trouble. Big trouble. He tried to catch him! Donnie's heart jumped into his throat as he replayed the last few minutes in his mind.

How he was cornered in the human's home. In their kitchen. How the man had looked at him like he was a monster. A freak.

Donatello swallowed dryly as he ran. His soaking footsteps splashed loudly and echoed around the tunnel. He grabbed one corner as the passageway turned sharply to the left. The sound of someone following him made him push to run faster.  _I'm sorry, April._  He had to get away. He had to! The images of his escape flashed back into his mind.

He was trapped in their kitchen. And then . . . April's dad . . . his eyes changed and there was a glint of something familiar and frightening in that expression. A blank, eager look. Almost hungry. In that moment, Donatello's stomach had turned to ice, twisted and sunk, for he knew he was in terrible danger.

He didn't care what April had said about him. Donatello could see it plainly. It was there in his eyes. He may never harm her, but she was his daughter. His human daughter. Donnie was nothing but a mutant freak to the man. Something to capture and study.

And hurt.

April's father wanted Donnie. Just like his dad sometimes did. In the tunnel, where he'd been tied to the metal grate. When his dad was explaining what happens to little mutant boys in the labs. When he was showing him what they'd do. Yes. It was the same look he'd seen before. The intense way April's father was staring at him. Like it wouldn't matter if he pleaded or cried. That man would do things to him regardless of his begging. In his lab.

He'd be strapped down again. Unable to move. Unable to stop what was about to happen to his body. Unable to stop the terrible pain from coming. Helpless.

He couldn't take that. Never again. He'd rather die than be strapped down again. He'd kill himself first. Burning tears blinded him at the desperate thought. The fact that he'd never see his brothers again made his breath hitch in his throat. An awful homesickness gripped him. He wanted to see them. Needed to. Fervently, he wished that they were with him now. Helping him get away.

Mikey with his bright smile and happy laugh, Raph with his strength and fierce defense of them all, and Leo with his gentle, protective love. Just thinking of his brothers gave Donnie the strength to push on.

"Leo," Donnie murmured as he ran, wiping his eyes.

* * *

Splinter stacked the leftover food from breakfast back into the refrigerator. He had watched as the boys nibbled at the food in front of them. So afraid. Even after his insistence that it was all for them. Then, in between bites, they had continued to thank him. Leo had started it, then the other two joined in.

At first, he was touched by their gratitude. But then it began to bother him. Splinter felt his heart cringe with every repeat.

They should not be so grateful for such a meager meal. Children should take something like eating breakfast for granted. With a sigh, he closed the door. He wished he could make it easier for them. But he knew he had to take it slow. He turned and was surprised to see Raph wiping down the table and Leo and Mikey playing quietly on the floor. Splinter looked closer to see that they had found a pencil and were rolling it back and forth to each other. He turned back to Raph.

"Thank you for your help, Raph-chan."

Raph's face shot up. He stopped what he was doing and clutched the rag nervously near his chest.

"I-I just thought . . . I mean . . . I always clean up. It's my job."

"I see. And what of your brothers? Do they help you with the chores?"

He hesitated as if not sure if he should say but then blurted, "Leo would have to rub Dad's feet and sometimes he'd had to massage his back and rub his . . ." He indicated his chest and stomach and Splinter's ears flattened back to his skull. His stomach turned to lead as he considered what Raph was telling him.

The little turtle continued, "Mikey would have to stay close in case he wanted to . . . play a game with him." He shrugged helplessly. "Donnie would . . . mostly hide behind the couch."

Play a game with him. Games that involved hurting the child and teasing him. The black rat would no doubt keep this spirited one away by giving him the bulk of the cleaning to leave him time to be caressed by Leo while tormenting the youngest. Grinding his teeth, Splinter took in a slow deep breath through his nose. He pushed aside his discomfort and the shadow of his disgust, burying it back so that none of it showed to the little turtle-boy in front of him. Knowing he would soon become a master at masking his emotions. When dealing with these children, helping them heal and listening to the awful stories that made up their day-to-day lives, it was imperative that he remain calm; at least on the outside. He collected himself and clasped his hands together, hiding one clenching fist beneath his other hand. He glanced at the table.

"Well, Raph-chan. You have done a very good job."

Raph blinked in surprise. "I-I did?"

A wavering smile spread over his face as his eyes darted from Splinter to the table. Splinter felt his heart warm at the boy's reaction to the praise. No doubt he'd never been thanked or complimented before. Splinter decided he would fix that with all of them. They would know what it was like to be appreciated. They would know what it was like to have some pride in their accomplishments no matter how large or small.

"Can we go get Donnie now, Master Splinter?" Mikey asked from across the room. Leo watched him carefully. "I miss Donnie. Can we go? Can we?"

Splinter looked to the side. A moment of silence passed as the turtles waited for his answer. He sighed and gave a curt nod.

Mikey jumped up and Raph joined him; racing up to the turn-stiles leading to the exit of the lair. They pushed and shoved at each other laughing and cursing out terrible names the entire time. Splinter cringed at the foul language they spewed at one another. He really needed to instill some discipline into the wild little ones. But that would be a challenge of its own. He loathed the idea of punishing these children after everything they'd been put through. He needed a way to teach them and guide them that would fit their sensitive needs. Splinter decided to ponder this question as to raising the mutant children the next time he sat in meditation.

Splinter crossed the space and put a hand on Leo's shoulder from behind. The boy gave a faint cry of fright and flinched hard. His face shot up and his fear gave his deep eyes a glassy look. Splinter immediately released him. Internally cursing himself. Leo sidestepped, putting some space between them. A feeling of disappointment from the child's response to him pulled at his heart. Splinter understood that it had been only a short time that they had spent in his presence but surely, the boy must know that he would not harm him like that. Or his siblings.

He sighed morosely.

 _No, do not take it personal._   _One step at a time. Must not rush his healing._  He cleared his throat and said, "Are you feeling better today, Leo-chan?"

Quietly, he answered, "Yes." Then as an afterthought he added, "Thank you, Master Splinter."

Splinter gave a frustrated smile. The title 'Master' was beginning to stick. He sighed. What could he do?

"Where should we look for Donnie?"

Splinter thought about it, heart sinking. He was tempted to tell the boy right then about his suspicions of his brother's demise. But decided it was still too early to land such a terrible blow. Tomorrow, he would take the oldest child aside and tell him what he thought happened to the little one, tomorrow.

"Perhaps where I last saw him?"

Leo thought about it and nodded. "Okay." He stepped through the turnstiles followed closely by Splinter. As he walked along, he looked up at the rat. "You don't think he went . . . home, do you?"

Splinter opened his mouth and looked sideways at him. His eyes were worried. Splinter understood the boy had reasons to look so anxious with that thought. Again, he wished he could just be honest with the child. But Splinter shook his head.

Raph waited up ahead, arms crossed over his chest. Mikey came bounded back towards them. He fell into stride next to Splinter and Leo. Splinter started as he felt the boy's small hand reach up and take his. Blinking, he felt the little fingers squeeze his as he walked and chatted.

"Wait 'til Donnie sees our new home," he rattled on with excitement. "I can't wait to show him how hot those glow-y things are! He is really good at fixing stuff. He loves metal thing-ies."

"You mean  _mechanical_  things," Raph said and swiftly glanced up at Splinter with his eyes to gauge his reaction.

Splinter gave a slight bow of his head in recognition to Raph. The boy's amber eyes glittered and he stood a little straighter as he walked along. Splinter felt the edges of his mouth curl up but he hid the smile. The group slowly merged into a pattern of Leo taking the lead and the three of them following along just behind.

Splinter was engaged in trying to keep up with Mikey's ongoing chatting about everything under the sun with the occasional correction by Raph, accompanied by the expectant glance up at Splinter to see what he thought of his knowledge and expertise in correcting his brother. Before he knew what happened, Raph was on his other side, holding his other hand; squeezing it from time to time almost painfully as if he were checking to make sure Splinter's hand was still there. Aware of the small warm hands clasped in his own, a feeling of contentment like Splinter had never experienced washed over him. His heart filled with happiness; he hmm'd and replied to the boys' rambling conversation as they walked along through the tunnel.

Leo glanced over his shoulder. His eyes hopped from one brother to the other. He blinked and his dark eyes rose to meet Splinter's. Splinter smiled at him. His warm eyes gleamed in the dim light of the passageway. Leo ducked his head and Splinter saw the ghost of a smile on his face just as he turned back to the front; leading the way.

* * *

Before long the tunnels became familiar and Donnie found himself inside the narrow hallway that lead to the front of their home. Out of breath and coughing, he braced his hands on his slightly bent knees and looked around the room. It was quiet. No one was around. Were his brothers out scavenging?

"Leo? _cugh, cugh_ ," he called. "Raph?"

Out from his room, Scrag suddenly appeared. His face darted around and fell on Donatello. The turtle stiffened and quailed back a step as Scrag strode over to him.

"Where have you been?" he snarled and grabbed Donnie by his upper arms. He shook him roughly.

"I-I . . . fell into the w-water," Donnie sputtered, "I got l-lost."

Scrag tilted his head, staring at him, considering his explanation for a moment before he relaxed and released him. Donnie ducked his head and took one step back, rubbing his arm.

"Where's everybody?" he asked timidly.

"They're gone," he said flatly.

Donatello's face snapped up. "Gone? What do you mean?"

"Donnie?" April's voice came from their entrance.

Scrag jumped and hissed as Donatello spun around.  _"April?"_ he gasped.

Scrag slid with lithe grace to the side of the doorway as the little girl emerged into the room. She quickly glanced around then saw Donatello. She smiled and ran up to him.

"Wh-What are you . . ."

Before he could finish, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye!"

"A-April," Donnie choked, cheeks flushed. A flash of unease gripped him. Something made him not want Scrag to see her embracing him. It made him feel afraid and not just for himself. He slowly took her arms and stiffly pulled them away from his body. She blinked at him, curious and a little hurt.

"How sweet," Scrag purred in a low voice from behind them, "a little friend."

April started at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. She twisted then fell back into Donnie's arms with a yelp of fright. The black rat prowled closer, until he towered over the children. His blind eye wept a long trickle of yellowed liquid down the side of his face. He tilted his face. His onyx eye glittered as it roved over the little human girl. He reached out and took a strand of her hair between his finger and thumb. It slid as he pulled it gently back, smiling down at her.

"Who is  _this_ , son?"

Donnie stared at Scrag with round eyes filled with fear. His throat worked as he swallowed. April's face darted from Scrag to Donnie.

"H-He's your dad?" she asked in a strained voice and slowly straightened up. She blinked at him, trying not to be rude. He was Donatello's father. Donnie was so good and sweet. Even though this black rat looked scary . . . she bit her lip and steeled herself. Her dad probably looked scary to Donatello. No. There was nothing to be afraid of. April looked back at Donnie. He looked very frightened and miserable but gave her a short nod. His brown eyes hit the floor. Almost as if he were ashamed. April pushed away her anxiety. She licked her lips and spun back around.

"Nice to meet you," she said with a forced smile.

Scrag blinked and his grin spread at her fearlessness. "Hmm. What is your name, little girl?" As he asked her, he plucked casually at her shirt, near the sleeve and then her collar. Peering down at her, he angled his head closer.

"April," she said with a wavering smile and a slight frown at his strange behavior with the front of her shirt. It took every ounce of will power she had not to back away from his touch. There was something strange about Donnie's father. Warning signs were blaring in the back of her mind, but she chose to ignore them.

If he was Donatello's father, he would never hurt her.

His clawed hand jumped suddenly to her throat. He gripped it tightly. Donatello gasped as April thrashed and tried to pry his fingers away. With a jerk, he pulled April around Donnie and headed for his room.

"April," he said with a nod. "What a pretty little name for a pretty little morsel."

"N-No! Dad,  _please_!" Donnie shouted and followed them. "What are you –"

Scrag turned around; as he did he backhanded Donnie with his free hand. Donnie cried out and fell roughly to the ground. He put his hand against his throbbing cheek and tasted blood. April choked and struggled as he held her effortlessly with one hand. He gave her a cruel shake and she started to whimper and cry. Donnie felt his own tears welling up as his heart pounded.  _Oh no. No!_  Shaking, Donnie climbed to his feet. With his free hand, Scrag pulled the blanket leading to his room aside. He motioned with his head to Donatello and snarled, "Get in there."

Donatello's mouth snapped shut as his glassy eyes turned to saucers. His hands went to his throat as his stomach turned to a block of ice. His knees turned to watery rubber-bands and barely held him up.

"C'mon. We're going to play some  _new_  games," he paused and brushed April's hair back from her forehead. He brought his fanged mouth close and ran his tongue over her mouth and cheek. She groaned and kicked her legs furiously. Tears were streaming down her flushed face. He chuckled and turned his good eye to Donnie who stood frozen in place, pale and shaking in complete terror. "Oh, you're gonna love them. I'm going to show you what that little piece of meat you hide under your shell is actually for."

He shook his head back and forth. " _No_ ," he whispered and his hands went to the sides of his head. His voice rose, "D-Dad,  _Please_."  _Not her. Not my friend. Not April!_

Scrag chuckled at his plea and disappeared behind the blanket. He called over his shoulder, "I go first. I'll get her all ready for that thick little turtle prick of yours."

Donatello, shaking from head to toe, stood where he was; feeling sick, unable to move, pressing his hands into the sides of his head.  _Think!_  He heard April choking and gagging. He heard her soft human growls and her broken sob. He heard Scrag laughing and saying something he couldn't make out.

He ran to the door and stopped just outside it. Terror making an invisible wall he couldn't break through. He wasn't strong enough. He was just a useless, stupid freak! But slowly, he felt the beginnings of something catching in the back of his mind. It was a spark in the dark. His fingers curled into fists. A flickering light that was quickly growing into a blaze of white fury filled him. But fear kept his feet fixed to the ground. His mind raced. 

_What could he do? What could he do?_

His eyes fell to the floor. They landed on something unfamiliar there on the ground. He stooped and picked it up. Smooth and heavy in his hand. Metal. Trembling, he unfolded the blade. It reflected in his eyes as it caught the light.

There was a sound of cloth ripping. He spun around where he crouched. A pause and the quiet was broken with April's shriek.

_"Donnie!"_

Jaw clenched, his hand tightened around the hilt of the blade. He heard Scrag call for him.

Eyes wild and blank with rage, he leaped through the blanket.

* * *

Scrag was between April's splayed legs on the mattress, one hand held her bound wrists above her head, the other was pulling and tearing at her jeans. Her head thrashed back and forth as she growled and sobbed. His dark blue robe was a pile on the floor next to them. His back was to the door. His pale tail lashed back and forth in excitement.

He was going to enjoy having a little girl take part in his games. And there were so many that he had only just come up with. There were so many things he could do with her and the useless little dimwit out in the living room. Maybe he didn't need Leo after all. Oh, he'd kill the gray rat, eventually. But until then, he could have his fun with these two. And when they finally succumbed to the games; when he held their throats too tightly for too long or they bled to death from the puncture wounds inside; well, he would just have to stalk the others and complete his plans to take back what was his.

But for now, it was playtime!

_"Donnie!"_

"That's right," he sneered, "cry out for him," he murmured, running his free hand over her. He didn't know how she and Donnie had become friends, but he didn't care. The fact that they were obviously friends only made what was about to happen that much better. Soaking up her fear with his double senses, he relished all the bright and swirling emotions that rolled off her: terror, betrayal, despair, shock. It was delicious. His arousal spiked painfully.

He spoke hoarsely between gritted, fanged teeth as he pulled at her clothes, "It won't be the last time I make you cry out his name." He chuckled as she struggled with a growl and a sniffle. "Be afraid, April. Be very afraid. I'm going to have fun with you. You and that little dim-wit, Donnie."

Her eyes went wild with fright and confusion.

His onyx eye glittering, he went on gleefully, "Oh, the things I'm going to make him do to you!" Tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, he watched her carefully as his fingers slid up between her legs and April thrashed and squealed. Laughter burst from him. Oh, this was ecstasy!

Where was that turtle? " _Donnie_ , get in here, you stupid  _runt_!" he called over his shoulder then turned back to April.

He wanted the boy to see what was happening to his little girl friend. He twisted around, impatient with having to wait for the useless boy to get in there. He opened his mouth to call for him again when the curtain was yanked forcibly back and Donnie burst into the room. Scrag frowned in confusion as he just caught the boy's eyes: narrowed to slits, completely whitened out.

In a flash, Donnie leapt on his back. His thin arm snaked around Scrag's neck.

Scrag screamed. He reared up and back; twisting to one side, trying to knock Donnie off while at the same time, trying to grasp what was happening. He was being attacked! Attacked by the turtle-boy!

 _"What?!"_  he shrieked.

But his tone went from anger to pain as Donnie brought the knife up and then down in a wide hook. Plunging it into his right eye. The blind eye.

The blade bit into the white orb and slid inside with a sickening sound. Blood squirted in a crimson arc. Scrag's body went rigid. He bucked and threw Donnie off. Donatello skidded across the floor. His shell hit the wall with a loud crack. The sound of the impact was drowned out by the broken, strained scream that Scrag unleashed. He clutched at the knife sticking out from the side of his head and fell to his knees. He shrieked again.

Dazed, Donnie stood up and stumbled over to April. He fell on her. Eyes darted over her to see if she was alright. His cheeks tinged pink as he fumbled quickly to pull her jeans and underwear back up over her hips while not looking at her. Sniffling, her hands reached for him. He grabbed her by the elbows and helped her to sitting.

They stared at each other in shock for a fractured second; eyes wide and tearful.

"Thank you for saving me," she sniffled and he snapped out of it. He jumped to his feet and pulled her off the mattress.

Scrag thrashed and crawled around in a lumbering circle in the small room. Howling in pain. He finally gripped the handle of the knife and pulled it from his eye. Another shriek followed. Scrag cursed at them as Donnie pulled on April's bound wrists, leading her swiftly out of the room. As they ran, he pulled the belt free from her wrists and latched onto her hand. Her fingers squeezed his tightly.

"Run you bastard!" Scrag screamed and babbled between sobs. "I'll  _kill_  you when I catch you! I'll rip your throat out! Useless freak! You're dead!" There was a pause then a chill raced down Donnie's spine as a cackle erupted out from the room growing louder as he pumped his legs. "April will die squealing! And you'll watch me  _rip_  her  _apart_ as I  _fuck her_!"

The last word dissolved into an echoing howl of more laughter as Donnie and April raced down the back passageway of their home. He held tight to April's hand, determined to get her as far away from Scrag as he could. Gritting his teeth, Donnie closed his burning eyes and gasped as he ran; the awful cough seizing him and sending piercing bolts of pain through his heaving chest.

Trying to forget how it felt when he shoved the blade into his dad's white eye. Trying to forget the guilt that gnawed at his heart for what he'd done; for not protecting April better.

Trying to forget the surge of savage joy that raced through him when he did it.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Excitement! eee!
> 
> I will do my best to update as often as before, but with school, work and mom-life, I may not get the chance. Be sure though, I will update as quickly as possible. :D Your reviews really help push me, though. Just sayin' XD
> 
> No, but really, thank you. This is just incredible, you guys. Your support and reviews are so awesome. Thank you.


	19. As Darkness Devours Hope

"Remember that all through history, there have been tyrants and murderers,

and for a time, they seem invincible.

But in the end, they always fall.

Always." - Mahatma Ghandi

* * *

 

Kirby O'Neil raced down the slope of the park where he'd followed April. He found her bike laying in the grass and had guessed right in the direction she'd gone. The sound of tires squealing had his face shooting around. Baxter Stockman staggered into the park, his face shooting around, looking for his colleague. Kirby shouted and waved. Baxter jogged towards him, in a moment, out of breath, he was next to him.

"I can't believe this nonsense," he panted. "Do you know how early it is?" He stood up, pinching his side with one hand and looked around. "Why the hell did you drag me out here?" He turned his head and narrowed his eyes.

Kirby was the most level headed scientist on the team. He was not one for over exaggerations and if it had been anyone else, Baxter would have simply chalked up the panicked phone call to a full blown mental breakdown. But something about his friend's tone, the urgency of it, made him listen. "You said something about proof." He huffed and tilted his head. "A  _mutant_?" he asked, his voice raising in disbelief.

Kirby nodded enthusiastically, hands up in surrender. "Yes. I saw it with my own eyes. My . . . My daughter, April. She brought it  _home_." Kirby released a nervous giggle that was suspiciously close to sounding as if he'd lost his wits.

Baxter's eyes widened. "How?"

Kirby shook his head cutting him off. His face grew serious and focused. Baxter knew that determined look all too well.

"That's not important right now. We have to hurry. Did you bring it?"

Baxter pulled a tranquilizer gun from the inside of his plaid suit jacket. He held it up for Kirby to see. Kirby nodded with a grim smile.

"Good. You're gonna need that. Follow me," he said and turned to race down the slope leading to the opening of the drain. As Baxter saw his partner duck and enter the tunnel he rolled his eyes and followed.

"Terrific. I had to wear my good shoes," he grumbled.

* * *

Donnie turned the corner and his feet came to a stuttering halt. His body froze. April slammed into him making him stagger a step forward. But he remained motionless. His wide eyes focused on the ground before them. The metal grate lay where it was when his dad had brought him here the other day. Images flashed mercilessly through his mind and he began to quake and shudder as he relived being strapped down.

The feel of his dad's eager hands ghosting over his flesh as he wrapped his arms with the belts; as he spread his legs out to the sides as far as they could go; making his stomach flip flop with the vulnerable feeling it left him with. His tail, unable to stay up against his body in that position, fell flat against the cool cement below the grate.

His dad noticed and had stroked it and pulled on it until he felt the warmth pool and swirl in the bottom of his body. Then when he couldn't hold it in anymore, his private part started to emerge with a strained whimper from his lips. His dad laughed at the sight and released him and how the all-too familiar humiliation made his cheeks burn. He felt the tip of the screwdriver being driven into his back, he heard the murmuring of his dad talking about the Bad Men and how they'd take him apart and cut things off of him; how he was stupid and useless and how much fun the men would have with him. And how he deserved everything they would do to him.

"D-Donnie?" April tugged on Donatello's arm. He seemed to be in some kind of daze, but he was trembling and shaking all over. She moved around to look at his face, still holding his hand in hers. His eyes were open but they looked flat and unfocused; glazed and faraway. His mouth hung open slightly and he was breathing in a strained, shallow, panting way. She waved her hand in front of his eyes.

"W-We can't stop now. We have to keep going. Please, Donnie. I'm scared!"

A noise behind them made her jump. She shook her head slowly back and forth as a familiar black shadow filled the side of the tunnel they'd just emerged from.  _Oh no, the monster was coming for them!_

* * *

Splinter did not want to revisit the vile place of the child's torture but he had suggested they look in the last place he'd seen them. The boys knew that Donnie had been in this part of the tunnel because of the precious toolbox they had discovered. Splinter moved ahead of the group now taking the lead. He paused and the three turtles stopped, huddled behind him. They looked around curiously and silent.

Raph spoke up, "I know this place." He stepped around Splinter. He edged his way to the opening and peered out into the expanse around and below. "This is our garbage dump," he said and pointed down. "That corner over there leads to an opening that goes back to our home," he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "I-I mean where we used to live."

He looked at Splinter to see if he was angry with him, but Splinter only seemed to be scanning the space below. They were five or six feet or so from the main level, standing in a dried out, abandoned passageway. A large pile of broken cars, boards, garbage, cracked plastic crates and debris choked into a hulking mass below. A lazy green river of filth trickled down the center of the space entering and leaving at similarly shaped drains on either side of the space. Several dark tunnel openings made up large holes in the surrounding brick walls. Pipes of varying width ran the length of the walls and covered the ceiling.

Raph immediately turned and dropped to a crouch. He hoisted his body over the side, making his way carefully to the lower level. He grunted as he landed and called up to them.

"Are ya comin' or not?"

Mikey took a running start and as Splinter gasped, he leapt through the opening without first looking where he was going or how far up they were. He just barreled past like an insane person.

Hooting in excitement, he grabbed his knees to his chest and flipped in a circle before crashing to the floor below. Raph leaped to the side to avoid being crushed by his younger sibling. A sharp curse filled the air as he dove. Mikey hit the ground with a loud slamming sound and rolled roughly through a pile of garbage. His bark of surprise was followed by a yelp of pain.

Splinter ran to the edge and did not hesitate to follow. He landed much more gracefully than the young turtle with one hand bracing the ground and pushing him up back to stand in a fluid movement. He dashed over to where Mikey sat up rubbing his head with a goofy grin on his face. He looked up and for a moment his eyes crossed before he blinked and they righted themselves. Splinter pulled various bits of garbage off his body; knocking away cans and a large piece of cardboard, giving him room.

"Mikey-chan," he snapped and at the way the boy cringed, immediately softened his tone, "What were you thinking?" He gently touched Mikey's face, head and shoulder. Tsk'ing at the scrapes and blossoming bruises along his arm.

The impulsive and wild boy shrugged. "I thought there'd be more water," he said sheepishly. "Ow," he moaned and rubbed his arm.

"You must be more careful," he hesitated, then added, "I would be very sad if you were to be hurt."

Mikey blinked up in surprise at him. His bright blue eyes sparkled in the low lighting of the room. He considered what Splinter said with an almost awed expression. Clearly, the boy was not used to being worried about.

Slowly, his eyes met Splinter's. They were full of embarrassment, "I-I'm sorry, Master Splinter."

Splinter shook his head, "It is okay, Kodomo." He stood and reached out to help him up. He really needed a way to direct the boy's natural overflowing energy into a more productive activity. "I'm just glad you are not hurt." He gently patted Mikey's head and the boy chuckled and grinned widely at his touch, peering up at him from under his hand. Splinter couldn't help but smile back down at him. Not for the first time, he felt his heart swell with love.

He turned to see Raph standing on the tips of his toes; reaching up and helping Leo who was struggling to get down from the opening of the tunnel. First one leg, then Leo changed his mind with a soft grunt and tried the other. He accidentally kicked at Raph's hand. Raph huffed and reached up again, unfazed by his brother's clumsy attempts to get down. He was struggling and no doubt in discomfort from having to climb awkwardly with the internal injuries he was healing from.

Splinter took two steps towards them when he stopped. The patience and gentle coaxing that Raph was showing his older brother impressed Splinter and he decided to see how the boys would work together. Leo groaned and gave a sharp cry of pain as his hold slipped and he fell down into his brother's arms. Raph stepped back as he caught him, but his strength and bulky build kept them both from falling over.

Leo ducked his head as he got his feet under him. "Thanks, Raph," Leo said softly.

Splinter saw Raph pat him on the chest before releasing his arm from around his brother's shoulders. "No problem."

The boys seemed to have a strong bond of support and love, not to mention jumping to each other's aid whenever they could. Despite the rough-housing and the bad language, the little turtle named Raph was very caring and gentle when he needed to be. He was not just some child that was uncontrollable or so angry there was nothing inside but fury, as Splinter had at first feared.

Splinter blinked and filed that information away in his mind.

"Do you think Donnie's here?" Mikey asked and looked around. "I don't see anyone . . ." he trailed off and then all four of them jumped as a scream shattered the air around them.

Instinctively, Splinter grabbed Mikey's hand and strode to stand in front of the boys. He clutched his walking stick firmly in his fist. His eyes darted around and his ears twisted and listened sharply. He sniffed the air and felt his heart pound as he heard the sound of a child's wail of fright come again. Only this time the timber was different. There were words being shouted, but they were unclear.

Leo burst from behind him. His head snapped around. "That's  _Donnie_!" Leo cried out desperately.

"What?! Leo-chan, No, I don't think . . ."

Before Splinter could try to explain why he didn't think it could possibly be the child's missing brother, he dashed away. He was a green blur in front of Splinter, out of his reach before he could grab the frantic boy. He clambered quickly through and over the waist high pile of debris. With a shout of pain and alarm, he struggled until he emerged onto the other side. He raced into the tunnel without a glance back.

"Leo-chan! Wait! Wait for us!"

* * *

Scrag lurched into the opening.

The side of his face was a gory mask of dark red blood. It trailed down his oily black fur, coating his bare chest in thin rivers. He staggered to a halt and his clawed hands grasped at the air in front of him. His mouth agape, it spread into a wide victorious smile as his eye landed on Donnie and the little red-haired girl next to him. She yelled in terror and was pulling on the boy's arm. Donnie only took a few steps then stopped. Scrag didn't know why he was no longer running, but he didn't care. He was going to enjoy tearing him to pieces, but first, the girl.

His eye fell on her and she shrunk away from him, cowering in the shadow of her little protector. With a giddy chuckle, Scrag took two steps and grabbed her by the top of her head. His hand fisted in her hair. She shrieked and kicked at him. Scrag grunted and snarled. He wrenched her free from her hold on Donnie and the rough action seemed to snap the boy out of his trance. He blinked rapidly and looked around as if he didn't know where he was.

" _Watch_ , Donnie," Scrag's hoarse voice struck him like a whiplash and he spun around only to fall to his knees in terror.

"No! Please, NO!" Donnie shouted his broken plea and watched in horror as the scene played out before him and time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Scrag ran his tongue alongside April's face. She grimaced and writhed in his clutches. He took one claw and reached down. He slid it across April's throat as she bucked and struggled. A long thin line of red followed in its wake. She moaned in despair. Scrag chuckled.

He slammed her to the ground in front of Donnie. She squealed in fright as stars of bright pain flashed through her vision. Spatters of his blood sprayed her face and bleeding throat. He tore into the front of her shirt, snarling and ripping it in two with one swift movement.

Donnie clutched his face and started to sob hysterically.

"Watch, you useless  _fuck_!" Scrag screamed and his voice was laced with giddy hysterical glee. "Watch me tear her to pieces!"

He fought against April's furious scratching and kicking. He knocked away her struggling limbs carelessly as if he were swatting at a bothersome gnat. He cackled as he slammed the heel of his hand into her mouth, making the back of her head slam into the ground, dazing her and making her lay still.

He glanced up at Donnie, "When I'm done, I'm going to make you eat what's left of her."

* * *

Kirby's legs sloshed through the shin-deep water. He stopped abruptly and Baxter slammed into his back.

"A little warning would be nice, next time, O'Neil."

Kirby raised one hand to silence him. He reached out and motioned for the gun. Baxter stared at his hand skeptically and then with a sigh handed it over.

"You sure you know how to fire one of these?"

Kirby gave a curt nod. He tilted his head and a pool of unease stirred in his gut. He thought he heard something.

A scream. A girl's scream.  _No. She's fine._  He clenched his jaw. But if that little monster touched a hair on his daughter's head, he'd personally be the one to vivisect it. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the tranquilizer gun.

Face darkened with fury, Kirby turned and headed swiftly in the direction of the scream he thought he heard. Hoping that he'd only caught a misleading echo and not the frightful shout of his daughter in trouble. Stockman followed close behind complaining of the smell.

* * *

Donnie dropped his hands. They curled into fists. His growl filled the room turning into a scream of rage as he scrambled to his feet and jumped on Scrag; punching him in the side of his head and face with all his strength. With little effort, Scrag used his elbow and knocked the boy flat onto his shell. His head snapped back and struck the gravelly ground with a crack. He grunted with the impact and rolled to his side, the edges of his vision darkening and he shook his head to clear it.

"Donnie!"

Donnie's head snapped up at the sound of his brother's searching voice. "Leo?!"

Leo ran into the small alcove. He leaped over the metal grate. His feet came to a sliding staggering halt as his mouth dropped open at the scene before him. His father unclothed, on top of a little human girl. Her shirt in tatters. Both of them covered in blood, Donnie to one side looking dazed and hurt. His eyes bounced from each of them, finally returning to Scrag.

"Dad? Wh-What . . .?"

Scrag pushed the weight of his body up by pressing the palm of his hand onto April's face. Still stunned, she groaned and turned her face away. Her eyes closed and she lay still.

Scrag stumbled towards Leo and fell to his knees before him. Leo stepped back, cringing from the stomach-turning stench of blood and filth. He raised his arms defensively as he quailed back another step, but Scrag grabbed him by his upper arms, holding him fast. He began to tremble.

Behind them, Donnie rose up on his knees, both hands clutching at the sides of his head. He swayed to the side and propped his body up with one arm. Donnie shook his head again and crawled over to the little human girl who was laying unmoving where Scrag left her.

"You came back to me," Scrag said, incredulously. A smile cracked through the dried blood on the side of his mouth and face. "You came back," he repeated and sniffed at him. His black eye glittered as it looked over the boy. He brought his dribbling black nose up close to Leo's face. One hand caressed his cheek. Leo blinked and turned his head away. Scrag sniffed at him and narrowed his eyes. The smile faded. His hand went back to his arm and squeezed painfully.

"Where are your clothes?" he asked suspiciously.

Leo gave a brief shake of his head, unsure how to answer, still completely stunned by what he had run into when he followed the shout of his younger, missing brother. Scrag shook him slowly at first, then harder and harder until his teeth rattled in his head and a whimpering noise escaped his gritted teeth and he panted in bursting gasps.

"What have you been doing with that gray rat?! Huh? Have you been playing games with him? Our games? Answer me!"

Scrag reared back and struck Leo across the face, then backhanded him so violently, the boy's head snapped back and to the side. A thin stream of blood and spittle flew from his mouth. Scrag released him and Leo fell in a heap at his feet, sobbing; covering his spinning head with shaking arms. Scrag's tail lashed back and forth in agitation. He stared down at the cowering boy and his good eye went wide.

"You have, haven't you? I  _knew_  it," he whispered. He reached down and grabbed Leo by the edge of his carapace. Leo yelped and shook as he struggled feebly. He dragged him to one side, onto the grate, bracing his foot against Leo's back of his neck. "You are  _mine_ , son.  _My_  sweet. You'll learn that if I have to tear you in half!"

The turtle's cheek pressed painfully against the metal bars. His mind was a panicked blank of white hysteria. He felt his dad's rough hands pulling apart his legs and he opened his mouth in a silent scream; shaking his head back and forth furiously; his cheek rubbing and scraping against the metal. He tried to rise up to escape but felt the pressure on the back of his neck increase, pinning him. The bar beneath his throat choked him. He felt Scrag grab his aching tail and cried out as bolts of electric agony streaked through the bottom half of his body as Scrag squeezed and pulled on it mercilessly. His legs feeling like rubber, kicked uselessly. He choked on his anguished sob.

"N-Nouh! No!  _Please_!"

He gasped as he felt Scrag lift his foot from his neck. Before he could gather his wits or his strength to scramble away, it was quickly replaced by Scrag's hand; gripping him and pressing him down forcibly. His brief moment of light-headed relief was replaced by racing horror. He felt his dad reposition himself over his shell with a grunt.

Leo's body tensed and went completely rigid; frozen with terror.

His voice rose to a terrified shriek, "Please,  _don't_! It hurts! Da-ad, p-please, it hurts  _too_   _much_! The p-pipe! The pipe hurt me!" His pleas dissolved into broken sobs as he felt the offending appendage prodding his tender and aching flesh.

He clamped his eyes shut and started to scream in blind terror.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwhahaha! Evil cliffie!


	20. Hope Dissolves the Darkness

"Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,  
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;  
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,  
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:  
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,  
And fright him as the morning frightens night!" – Passage taken from the poem: To Hope, by John Keats

* * *

There was a sound like a scuffle of footsteps, a burst of hot breath on the back of his neck, followed by a choked-off shout and suddenly the weight was gone from Leo's shell.

His scream broke into a hitching gasping sound as his mind raced. He lay frozen where he was, shaking violently.

_Get up! Get up, now!_

It took a few seconds before his numb limbs responded to his brain's repeated order to get up. Leo pulled himself together and rose up onto his hands and knees. He crawled off the metal grate, shuddering. His aching tail throbbed from the abuse it had just taken. It sent waves of pain up through his spine and down his thighs. But it would have been much, much worse if . . .

Leo closed his eyes as bile rose in the back of his throat with the thought of what was about to happen. It would have been too much to take. He was still so raw and in too much agony from the pipe his dad used on him the other night to have withstood any more penetration. His stomach roiled and he dry heaved before he was able to calm himself down. He sniffled and burning tears of shame streaked down the sides of his face. He wasn't strong enough to take the abuse anymore.

Not that his dad would've cared.

Leo suspected for a while now that his dad enjoyed his suffering. The more pain Leo endured the more enthusiastic he became. He had begun to fight less and less with each encounter – the will to fight against Scrag's attacks was beginning to fade from his spirit. The constant and escalating pain was steadily wearing him down.

On more than one occasion, he had found his mind pondering the trains that would race down certain tunnels and what might happen should he step in front of one of them. If it would be quick. If it would hurt. Only the thought of leaving his brothers behind with his father kept him from acting on his dark thoughts.

The thought of his brothers brought his mind back to the present. Leo twisted around onto his hip to see what was happening behind him. To see what or who had rescued him from the cruel fate he was about to endure. He sat in stunned silence; trembling, mouth agape, eyes in twin round circles.

"Sensei," he breathed.

Master Splinter had tackled the black rat. Sent him flying off of Leo's shell; freeing him. He and Scrag rolled in a writhing mass of claws, bared fangs and lashing tails. Guttural growls and fierce hissing filled the air. They tumbled to the side and over the ledge of the tunnel as they wrestled; dropping four feet to the bottom. They sloshed through the thick sluggish stream and surrounding mud until they barreled together against the bricks.

Splinter on top; rose up onto his knee, one leg straddled over Scrag's lower body. His jaw clenched in wild rage; amber eyes flashing with fury and revulsion. He pulled back and slammed his fist into Scrag's snout; then again, and again; until his knuckles came up dripping long strings of crimson.

The black rat snarled and yelped and snapped at Splinter's hand and wrist. His fangs were a gory mess of foam and blood and spittle. He thrashed and bucked, trying to knock his attacker away. His hands speared out and raked through the air.

Splinter blocked and caught one wrist. With a quick motion, he twisted it down and at an angle. There was a pop and Scrag writhed and hissed in pain. His black eye was wild with frantic fear and racing hatred. His free hand lashed out. Wicked claws aimed straight for Splinter's amber eyes. Splinter ducked and swung his face out of range, as he did, Scrag thrashed again and rolled free; facing the wall.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his wrist, he clambered up the side of the bricks; his claws digging into the crumbling cracks and loose metal piping jutting from the wall. In a swift, slithering motion, Scrag coiled and twisted his dripping body, leaping up and around, behind Splinter. As he landed, his long tail whipped out and caught Splinter around the neck; tightening.

Splinter was jolted back. His hands shot to the rope-like tail wrapped around his throat. Instead of falling, he was able to roll backwards with the momentum.

He came up onto one knee. He reached out and snagged Scrag's tail between both hands. Seizing it firmly, he gave it a violent snap and the sound of multiple bones breaking filled the air; the noise like fire crackers being set off.

Scrag's agonized shriek followed. He dropped to his knees as the end of his tail uncoiled and fell limp in Master Splinter's grip.

* * *

Donnie crawled over to where April lay; frighteningly still. The chaos behind him faded to a white noise. Nothing mattered except his friend. He had to help her. He had to get her away from here. Away from his dad.

He gathered the bits of her shirt and did his best to cover her bare flesh. He leaned over her and patted her cheek. No response. The hysterical tide of panic was rising in the back of his mind. His heart hammered in his squeezing chest. Spots began to form along the edge of his vision. He felt faint. But he caught himself and with a mental shake, he felt something disengage.

The panic was abruptly reined in as he detached emotionally. He felt a numbness, a calm, come over him as his brain processed the situation with a clarity and focused vision that bordered on surreal.

It wasn't the first time he had done this. To escape what was happening to him in his dad's room, he often felt his mind separate from his body. It would focus on something far away or safe and solid and factual, like mathematical equations: as in the dimensions of their dwelling and the maximum velocity of a moving train and how much, structurally speaking, the room could withstand if that speeding train barreled through it. And the dynamics and logistics of getting his brothers away before they sustained any injuries.

And what the survival rate would be for his dad if he didn't get away in time.

Math comforted him.

April moaned and he mentally noted her condition. She was bruised, lip swollen and bloody from a small gash along the inner side of her bottom lip, the cut across her throat was shallow and the blood had already begun to clot. It looked much worse than it actually was. But her head had been slammed against the concrete floor of the passageway.

Carefully, Donatello turned her head. He bent low and examined the back of her skull; feeling with his fingertips for any blood. He found a lump and his fingers came away with only a slight smear of crimson. He breathed a sigh of relief as April moaned and frowned with her eyes closed. Her eyelids fluttered open.

" _Ugh_ , my head hurts," April grimaced and slowly sat up, cradled in Donnie's thin but steady arms. She leaned against his plastron and let him hold her as she blinked and looked around; dazed and not completely conscious. "Wh-What's happening?"

* * *

Scrag whined and using his heels, he scooted through the mud away from Splinter. With trembling hands, he pulled his shattered tail, hand over hand, up to his chest where he cradled it and petted it. He rocked where he sat; whimpering and muttering nonsense. Blood and foam dribbled down from his injured mouth and trailed streaks through his oily fur as he licked and lapped at the swollen flesh. He sobbed piteously and folded forward over his broken appendage.

Splinter reached out and picked up his cane from where it had dropped and rolled when he first came upon the sickening scene of the child being attacked by this monster. His fists shook at his sides, the black tide of rage surged through him as he rose up to stand. In two steps he stood; looming over the cowering beast like an avenging angel casting judgment on a demon.

"Please," Scrag quailed and shrunk down into a huddled ball. He blinked up through the mask of blood on his matted face, "No more  _pain_. Please. I beg you. Have  _mercy_!"

Chest heaving from exertion, Splinter slowly shook his head in disgust. He raised his cane up and back to strike the finishing blow across the fiend's temple. But he hesitated in his pose. His eyes swept the room; over the ledge to where Leo sat trembling and watching with intense concentration, to Donnie, the little turtle was alive after all! He was helping what looked like a little red-haired girl sit up. Oblivious to everything else happening around him.

The sound of someone gasping caught Splinter's attention. He twisted to see Raph and Mikey run up to stand just behind Leo. They helped Leo stand. And Mikey's confused gaze landed on them. Mikey's hands covered his mouth and he moved to run towards them when Raph grabbed him around his chest and pulled him backwards.

"Da-"

"No, Mikey!"

Splinter considered the mutant turtle children. He thought of all they had told him, of all they had been through that they couldn't bring themselves to voice, of all the horror and abuse they had to endure at the hands of this monstrous imposter. This beast that posed as their father. His mind raced on: thinking of the challenges that lay ahead of each of them, the scars that would forever mar their souls . . . the unfairness of it all. Splinter turned back and gazed down at the black rat begging for his pathetic life before him.

"Please don't hurt me!" Scrag squealed and shook. Tears flooded from his uninjured eye. He clutched his shattered tail to his chest.

He searched his heart and found no pity for this cruel creature that preyed on the most innocent beings in this world. All he could think of was how the children had probably pleaded for mercy from him. The one that they considered their  _father_. And was he ever merciful to their battered, beaten, abused little bodies? No. Today was not the day for mercy. Not for this demon. Splinter would rather the children not have to witness the death of this creature that posed as a parent to them. But it could not be helped.

He raised his hand higher to strike when Scrag's glittering eye full of panic and fright turned hard as obsidian and cold as the void.

Scrag sprung. With surprising speed, his arms went around Splinter's head and neck in a fiendish embrace; snarling mouth fully open to bite into the side of Splinter's throat. The cane flew from his grasp. The old rat lost his footing from the impact and fell onto his back into the thick fecund water with a loud grunt. Scrag's rear legs bunched and his back claws gripped and then tore into Splinter's stomach as he thrashed and tried to fight his way free from the unexpected furious assault.

The fabric of Splinter's robe shredded as the black rat's hind claws dug through the material, through the gray fur, through to the tender skin below; slitting long gashes down the front of his abdomen. Splinter could only gasp in shock and pain as Scrag's jagged fangs ripped into Splinter's thick fur at his neck to the flesh beneath. His fingers slid through the oily fur, unable to find solid purchase. Like a rabid animal, Scrag's mouth snapped open and closed frantically and wildly as he bit all along Splinter's throat and face.

His teeth closed onto Splinter's ear. With a jerk of his head, Scrag shredded the ear to bloody strips of hanging flesh.

Sparks of blinding pain stole Splinter's ability to react. His breath was stolen from him. He flailed feebly as he felt his body being slashed and torn by fangs and claws. His only coherent thought was to get the little ones away from the black rat; to keep them from his clutches. He could not fail in this! He could not! He had to protect them! But his head was spinning and the edges of his vision was growing blacker by the second. Dimly he thought he heard the jumbled voices of the children -  _his children_  - screaming.

"Leave Master Splinter  _alone_!" "Stoppit!" "Get off him!" "No!"

He heard a thud and the sound of water splashing. Blearily, he turned his head just as he felt the black rat's body thrown from him. He rose up on one elbow, head spinning, to see Raph struggling and fighting the beast. Tiny fangs bared in a grimace of pure hatred, his small fist rained down on the rat's back and head. In one hand he gripped a screwdriver; holding it downwards like a dagger.

Scrag's hand went up to block and the point of the tool pierced into and through the flesh. Scrag tensed and screamed as he staggered away from the little mutant. He yanked the tool free from his flesh and his fist shot out and struck the boy across the side of his head. The impact knocked Raph back with a cry of pain and a groan. The boy tumbled backwards until he lost his footing and fell onto his shell in the water.

"Raph!" Leo and Mikey screamed in unison.

Raph sat up and shook his head, trying to clear his doubling vision. A line of blood dripped from one corner of his mouth. Chest heaving, Raph glared up at Scrag; amber eyes flashing as they focused. A low but fierce growling rumbled from the young turtle. Scrag sneered at him as he clutched his bleeding claw to his chest.

"Bastard!" he spat. "Y-You'll pay for that! How dare you attack your father!?"

Raph screamed,  _"You ain't my dad!"_

Raph looked about. He grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as he could at Scrag.

The black rat dodged the rock as it sailed past his face. He watched it bounce and roll to where Leo and Mikey had jumped down and crawled over next to the gray rat. They were helping him sit up. As his gaze fell on them, they froze. Moving on his knees, Leo squeezed in between Splinter and Mikey, positioning himself slightly in front of the battered and tearful group. He pulled Mikey closer with one arm in a tight embrace then released him. The freckled cheeks of the youngest was glistening with tears.

Scrag frowned at Leo who only gazed back defiantly, one hand braced across the front of gray rat's bloody chest. He sat trembling and blinking in his defensive pose. His stance and expression said one thing,  _you'll have to get through me to hurt him again._

The girl's voice caught his attention. He twisted to see Donnie assisting her. They were moving towards another tunnel; making their escape.

"Where are we going?" she moaned, clutching at his steadying arms.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmured.

Another rock flew at him and this one connected with a loud crack to the back of his head. A flash of pain blinded him for a moment. Scrag froze. His good eye widened for a second before it narrowed to a slit. Enough of this! No more games! He'd kill them all if he had to! Every last one of them! He would devour their flesh and suck the marrow from their dripping bones!

He spun around to face Raph who sat up on his knees and lobbed another rock at his face. He dodged and strode forward. He snarled,  _"I'll rip you to pieces!"_

Stiffly, he moved to pounce on the boy who raised his forearms over his face to block when Splinter's fist shot out and gripped Scrag's broken tail.

Splinter growled, _"No! You will not touch him!"_

Splinter pushed Leo to the side, out of harm's way as he yanked the tail roughly back.

Scrag screamed; clawing at the air in front of him. He spun around. His dripping jaws open as he tensed to leap. Splinter braced himself. But his narrowed eyes widened into circles of surprise as two men suddenly stumbled into the space, looking lost and arguing with each other. One of them, a thin red-haired man, held a pistol in his grip.

Without time to think, he only acted on his instinct to get the children away from the humans. Splinter immediately dropped Scrag's tail and dove to Raph. He snatched the boy in his arms and spun back to gather Leo and Mikey as best as he could; pushing them up over the ledge.

"Go! Go, children!" he urged in a strained whisper as they clambered up and dashed towards where Donnie had gone with Splinter close on their heels.

Scrag watched Splinter's actions with a baffled, furious expression. But then his double senses caught the new presence. The presence of Bad Men!

An icy bolt of fear went through him. He knew the scent that hung on these two. The white, sharp scent of the labs with the bright lights and the piercing needles and the burning injections. He spun around and hissed at the men; moved to leap on them.

Their stunned immobility broke with the movement. A man with a dark complexion shouted in a high-pitched tone of disbelief, "There! O'Neil,  _shoot that fucking thing_!"

The red-haired man raised the pistol and fired just as Scrag moved to jump. His body suddenly jerked and went rigid as the dart buried itself into his neck. His arms and hands jolted awkwardly. Foam sputtered from his mouth as it opened and shut. Writhing, he fell to the ground where he twitched and flopped like a landed fish.

The men strode quickly, but with hesitant steps, into the space. Their eyes glued to the enormous black rat coiling on the ground.

"M-My god, Kirby. You weren't kidding," Baxter breathed. He knelt near the shuddering, moaning black rat.

Kirby's eyes were round and blinking. He shook visibly. "N-No, that isn't the one I –"

Before Kirby could finish, Scrag spun his gore-covered face around. His jaws came down onto Baxter's leg and the man howled. Kirby slammed the hilt of the gun into the back of the creature's head. He brought it down again and again until the creature released his colleague's leg and fell in a twitching heap at his feet.

* * *

As the men struggled with Scrag, Splinter limped as quickly as he could into the tunnel. Stunned and shaken, he stopped as they caught up with their missing sibling. The brothers were taking turns hugging Donnie furiously. Splinter, clutching at the burning wounds on his abdomen, turned his face to the little girl standing off to one side, trembling and in shock. She was not much older than his youngest, Mikey. He took in her condition and worried about what the black rat might have done to her.

She leaned against the wall, hugging her body tightly with her arms. Her face was turned towards the men just beyond the edge of the passageway. She bit her bottom lip. Then turned to face him. Their eyes met.

He saw the uncertainty there. The mistrust and fear. The decision she made was clear in her glassy, frightened eyes. She wanted her father. She was just a scared little girl lost in the sewers, surrounded by monsters. Splinter's heart went out to her in compassion and empathy.

She opened her mouth and took in a breath as if to shout.

Splinter felt his world come to a stop. She was going to alert the men! She was going to give away their hidden position! He gave a short, pleading shake of his head. "Please." It was more of a sigh than a word.

April closed her mouth; bottom lip trembling. Her eyes dropped. Using her back to prop her up, she rolled off the wall and stood on wobbly legs. She sidestepped, keeping well away from Splinter's body, out of his reach as much as possible. She turned away from the gray rat and the four turtles and inched towards the opening. She gave one glance over her shoulder.

Splinter, saying a silent prayer of gratitude for the kindness of people, whispered, "Thank you, child," as he faded into the shadows with the turtles ushered in front of him.

The group slipped into the surrounding darkness and April saw the flash of Donnie's brown eyes as he glanced back at her. They were full of longing and sorrow. She thought she heard his mournful whisper,  _April_.

"Donnie," she said, turning fully around just as they vanished and she was left all alone in the dripping silent tunnel. "I'll never forget you," she murmured.

* * *

April sniffled as two tears slipped free from her eyes. She swallowed and started towards the opening of the tunnel towards the sound of her father's voice. She came out into the opening and raced to the edge of the walkway. Kirby looked up.

"April! Sweetheart! Are you . . ."

She sprang down from the side and wrapped her arms around Kirby as he caught her and hugged her tightly.

"Daddy! Oh,  _Dad_!" She broke into a fit of sobbing then, all her words choked off.

"It's okay," Kirby murmured as he stroked the back of her head. "Nothing's going to hurt you. Ever again." April shook her head. "I promise," he said and picked her up into his arms.

He exchanged a look with Baxter. "I-I need to get my daughter home."

Baxter nodded and produced his cell phone with a shaking, bloody hand. He hit the speed dial. "I'll get the recovery team down here and the paramedic crew," he said between panting. As the phone rang, Baxter stared at Kirby. "I thought you said something about it being reptilian."

Kirby shook his head. "Forget it. We have what they want."

Baxter's eyes drifted to April. Kirby stared at him with a blank look. "Stockman."

His eyes jumped up to Kirby's and held the frigid stare the man was giving him. Baxter squirmed where he sat, clutching at his cell phone with one hand and his bleeding calf with the other. The look Kirby was giving him made him uncomfortable. He'd known the scientist for many years and knew when the man had that cold expression on his face he was capable of the most sinister acts; all in the name of science, of course.

"She was never here. I hope I won't need to ever remind you of that simple fact."

Baxter nodded and dropped his eyes. "Of course, Dr. O'Neil. No need to get threatening," he added under his breath. His attention was caught then as a voice answered on the other line.

April raised her tearful face. "D-Dad, wh-what about the little –"

Kirby shushed his daughter as he strode down the murky tunnels back the way they had come; towards the surface. "Forget about that, April. It never happened."

"B-But, Daddy, he's my friend! He was hurt!"

He stopped in his tracks. His eyes fixed on hers. They were hard and cold. They held a look that April was unfamiliar with. A small pool of fear swirled in the pit of her stomach. She didn't like her father looking like that. It made her feel scared.

"April. You hallucinated after you hit your head. Do you understand me?" He stared intensely into her eyes.

"B-But . . . No! That's not true! I followed Donnie -"

His stubborn daughter had no idea what would be in store for her if TCRI caught wind that she had contact with any of the mutants. At the best, he would never see her again. At the worst . . . he shuddered. For her own protection, he had to make her understand. He tightened his grip on her.

"April, let me be perfectly clear. You hit your head and hallucinated this entire episode. This morning, you got on your bike and you fell off it. You ended up roaming around in a state of confusion where I found you here. At the mouth of this tunnel, in the park. Is that clear?" he asked gruffly. The tone was hard and hoarse. It made her scared and angry with him.

She shook her head with stubborn resolve. "No. That isn't true," her voice cracked. "Donnie is real. He's my friend." He gave her the smallest of shakes.

Voice cold and foreign sounding to her ears he said through gritted teeth, "April, you're safety is at stake here. Do you  _understand me_? We will  _never_  talk of this again. Never. If you insist on pursuing this nonsense about make-believe friends, I will have to send you to a special hospital for therapy."

He paused and the look of betrayal on her face nearly crushed him. But he steeled himself against the hurt look – it was for her safety. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe. " _Never_  again."

More tears spilled from her eyes. She nodded but promised herself that she'd never, ever forget. No matter what, she thought stubbornly.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Keep those reviews coming! You guys are all so awesome! HUGS! What did you think of the battle between Splinter and Scrag? I really hope it lived up to all your expectations :D The story still has a little to go . . .


	21. The World Tilts and we Feel it Not

"Oh, why you look so sad? Tears are in your eyes.

Come on and come to me now. Don't

be ashamed to cry.

Let me see you through, 'cause I've seen the dark side, too.

When the night falls on you – you don't know what to do –

Nothing you confess . . .

could make me love you less." –I'll Stand by You, by The Pretenders

* * *

 

_six months later_

. . .

Sitting alone in the quiet respite of his bedroom, he examined the souvenirs of his battle with the black rat six months ago. Splinter's fingertip gingerly swept down the length of one long scar. The flesh was a raised welt of jagged pink. It ran from the center of his sternum to the middle of his stomach. It was two inches wide, more narrow at the ends.

He glanced at his reflection. Several of the scars from Scrag's attack had faded and others vanished completed under the layers of his gray fur. But a few that were larger still stood out, marking his abdomen in a striped pattern. His eyes rove up to the tattered remains of his left ear. While his hearing was still impeccable, the flap was a ruined mess, leaving a stump of flesh that was ugly to gaze upon. With a grimace, he roughly brought together the edges of his robe and tied the belt with a sigh. He shook himself out from his melancholy mood.

His outward appearance was inconsequential. No, it did not matter in the least. The most important thing was that he had survived. And his children were safe.

A shout followed by a loud crash snapped his head around. He stood up from where he'd been kneeling on his mat and crossed the room, muttering under his breath, already knowing what he'd find. He slid the door open and cast about for the source of the noise. He set his mouth into a firm line of disapproval.

"You little  _fucker_!" Raph snarled and brought his fist down; aiming for his stomach but Michelangelo swiftly spun where he lay. Raph's blow landed squarely on his shell. He pulled it back and howled in pain; shaking it out and gripping it close to his chest. "Argh! Dammit!"

Mikey scrambled out from under Raph. He turned on his bottom to taunt him, "Ha ha! That's what you get you snot slurper!" He stuck his tongue out at him.

"I'm gonna pull that out and shove it up your –"

" _Enough_  of this!" Splinter crossed into the room; furious. The boys froze in their tracks.

The two rambunctious boys were constantly tearing up the house and wrestling violently with each other every chance they got. Splinter put his hands on his hips and surveyed the mess. The coffee table was on its side, broken candles scattered along the carpet and the cushions of the couch were strewn everywhere. Leo emerged from the kitchen, a pencil in his hand.

"I told them to stop but they ignored me," he said with a glare at Raph.

Raph looked murderous as he scowled at his older brother. Mikey had jumped to his feet and was hastily gathering up cushions in his arms.

Splinter took a step back and a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth. He blinked slowly and said, "Foul language will not be tolerated in this home." His eyes jumped from Mikey, holding one cushion protectively in front of him to Raph who dropped his head, looking remorseful. Splinter rolled back his annoyance along with his shoulders. He still walked on egg shells around the children when it came to disciplining them but things were beginning to get out of hand.

He said more gently, "Raph-chan, please assist your brother in picking up this," he indicated the room with his hands. Raph got up and started righting the coffee table. Then Splinter looked around to Leo who kept his wary gaze focused firmly on him. It was the same whenever he needed to discipline the child's brothers. It was no secret that the boy did not wholly trust him not to hurt him or them, even after all these weeks. Whereas with the youngest and with Raph, the transition came much more smoothly.

Splinter understood it would take more time with Leo, due to what he'd suffered, but he often wished there was something he could do to win the boy over completely. The boy would visibly stiffen if he came too close and touching him at all was completely out of the question. Whereas with Mikey and Raph, they seemed to thrive on physical contact. Donnie was the same as Leo, but even more distant and even more strongly mistrusting.

At least Leo would speak to him.

"Where is your brother?"

Leo fidgeted with the pencil and looked over his shoulder. "Uh, Donnie's upstairs, in our room." The look on the boy's face suggested:  _where else would he be?_

Splinter moved to the staircase and started up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He glanced over his shoulder to see Leo following him, the worry and fear clearly written in his eyes. Behind them, he heard a scuffle and the soft grunts and curses growled under their breath as the other two reengaged in fighting. He distinctly heard the soft crash as a body was being tackled and new sounds of protests and swearing. He hesitated with one foot posed between steps but then closed his eyes and shook his head. Splinter chose to simply ignore them for now.

He twisted around to look down at Leo. The boy dropped his eyes and twirled the pencil between the fingers of both his hands.

"I am only going to check on him, Leo-chan. I would like to see if he would join you in your writing and reading lessons."

It had come to his attention that the boys had no education to speak of. None of them could read or write. Splinter had decided to teach them. Starting immediately. Despite understanding that they may never leave the underground world, Splinter wanted to prepare them for any eventuality. He wouldn't be around forever and his children may one day strike out on their own. He could at the very least, give them the skills they'd need to stay safe and secure. Besides that, it was an excellent way to take their minds off the trauma of the past few months: leaving their home and their pseudo-parent being taken by the human men.

Leo had taken to the lessons with a determined focus that was impressive. That he struggled to learn was no secret, but he worked relentlessly at everything that he was tasked with. He had a strong urge to excel and thrived on the praise that his achievements brought. He made excellent progress with each passing week. The same focus was sorely lacking in his younger siblings.

Mikey would often doodle all over the paper instead of concentrating on forming the letters. He had natural artistic talent, but Splinter needed him to rein in his creative energies a little and learn the basics of lettering and sentences.

Raph  _tried_. But he struggled even more than his older brother. Every accomplishment Leo earned set a fire of steely determination into the boy. He put intense effort into each lesson. But it did not come smoothly to him at all. And he would get so frustrated at his failures that he often pressed the tip of the pencil into the paper so hard it either tore at the material or the tip snapped. He would then crumple the paper into a tight ball and become sullen and ill-tempered the rest of the day. Taking his frustrations out on any of his brothers that had the misfortune of coming across his path. Particularly being hateful towards Leo.

"Donnie doesn't need to practice," Leo said with some admiration. "He can read and write. He used to practice whenever he could . . . only sometimes da-" he faltered then. He went on in a lowered voice, "Sometimes he'd get into trouble for it. So, he mostly did it when we went up." Leo pointed to the ceiling indicating the outside world.

Splinter nodded. "Is that so," he murmured.

Donnie was a mystery. He would not leave the bedroom unless to use the bathroom or eat; no matter how Splinter tried to coax him. He'd stay in the corner with his rusted metal toolbox until bedtime. And though Splinter was loathe to be aggressive, he knew if they didn't come to an understanding soon, he may be forced to be more firm. His reclusive behavior was unhealthy. It was in the child's best interest to be educated. But this new information that Leo had just given him about the boy was further proof to something Splinter had wondered about.

The boy was indeed incredibly intelligent for the black rat not only would not have taught them anything, but discouraged any type of learning. And yet, what Leo had said . . . that meant the boy had taught himself to read and write. Had hidden it from his parent for fear of reprisal.

Splinter turned back towards the room. He wanted to check on the withdrawn child. He was determined to reach him. Behind him, he heard Leo following. Splinter turned his head.

"Leo-chan, go back to your studies. I wish to talk to your brother alone."

He turned his face away because he didn't want to see how the child struggled between obeying the order and protecting his sibling from imagined harm. But Splinter needed Leo to start trusting him and he was losing patience playing this mental tug-of-war with the boy. He waited a moment then continued upstairs. His eyes darted to the side and he saw with some relief, Leo walking slowly back towards the kitchen.

He was extremely obedient. It was impressive. But it also saddened Splinter as he considered how that obedience was most likely used against the boy. Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the thought away. He needed a clear head when he approached Donnie.

Over the weeks, he had meditated on a proper solution to channel the children's high energies and undisciplined and isolating behavior and had finally come to one conclusion. The only conclusion that seemed to make sense to the old rat. But he knew it would only succeed if all of the children participated. He had not doubt that the three downstairs could be persuaded. He raised his head as he approached the closed door.

But this one - he was suffering in a protective and impenetrable cocoon of silence and Splinter was having trouble reaching him. His only hope was that he'd connect and form even a slight bond with the boy. Then he'd use Leo to help urge him to participate in what he'd planned for the children. It would not be easy, though.

The smallest of the group, though not by age, was introverted, shy and quiet. Splinter could only guess at the torment that he endured at the hands of the black rat based on what he had only glimpsed in that tunnel all those months ago. The boy had been in a melancholy depressed state since he brought him into his home.

But he did have a curious nature that would surface from time to time and often Splinter caught him staring with open interest at him from the corner of his eye. Particularly whenever Splinter was engaged with repairing something around the house. Though Splinter had tried to engage him in conversations, he hardly ever spoke and most of the time was lost in his own world. The other children spoke highly of the child and often told him how intelligent he was and how capable he was a fixing things. When the young turtle did hazard to meet his eyes, Splinter saw keen intelligence within the dark brown orbs. And had guessed soon after bringing him home that the boy was much more than he seemed.

Splinter stopped in the doorway. He used his knuckle and tapped at the frame before stepping inside. Donnie was seated in the far corner, his shell to the doorway. He peered over his shoulder at the sound of the knock, but did not raise his eyes to see who was entering the room. His oversized toolbox sat next to him on the floor.

"Donnie-chan," Splinter started.

Don dropped his head and turned back to the corner. Tucking himself tighter into the space. He mumbled something and Splinter's eyes perked up. He had said something! He crept closer and crouched near the boy, still keeping his distance.

"Did you say something, Donnie-chan?" he asked gently.

Donatello looked at him before quickly dropping his eyes. He shook his head. His fingers dug into the sides of his arms and his toes curled over the top of his opposite foot.

Splinter's eyes fell to the toolbox, he was surprised to find it empty. When did the boy rid himself of his tools? He swallowed as he considered why Donnie might have disposed of the implements. The black rat had a bloody screwdriver in his fist; had been driving it into the child's flesh. Splinter suppressed a shudder.  _No. Stay focused. Stay clear-headed and neutral._  Splinter was determined to reach him. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to ask, but he went with his instinct.

"Where are your tools?"

Splinter saw his face pitch further away from him as he turned it slightly. The boy remained silent. Splinter looked again into the metal box.  _What is this?_  

It was not completely empty. He reached inside and gathered four strips of yellowed paper. To each was affixed a thin ribbon of faded colors. Red, purple, blue and orange. From the corner of his vision, he noticed that Donnie was watching him. Pretending that he hadn't noticed the boy's shift in attention, he carefully held the papers in his palm and turned them over one at a time. He blinked in surprise to find writing on them. He squinted and peered closer. Not writing, exactly. But one word on each slip. Splinter continued to frown at the paper as Donnie's face moved from his palm to his face and back again.

"That's us," he said quietly. Splinter held his breath and counted to five before commenting; keeping his eyes locked in front of him.

"Oh?"

"I mean, those are our names."

Splinter tilted his head slightly. "Dono . . . Donatrel . . . R-Ruffo . . ." he purposely struggled to pronounce the writing before him.

"Donatello, Raphael, Leonardo and Michelangelo," he said and his voice grew stronger.

Splinter bobbed his head and allowed himself a smile. His eyes were sad as a forgotten memory like a remembered dream floated to the surface of his mind.

The pet shop. On the way to and from work, he'd pass it. Chancing a glance inside, always to find with great pleasure the sole employee cleaning out tanks or sweeping the floor. She was the owner, a young woman with brown hair and blue eyes. So pretty and friendly. A bright, happy burst of laughter would come from her when he'd attempt to joke. She liked his accent.

The days went by and he ventured inside more and more often. Spoke to her more frequently.

She was a widow – like him - even at her young age. Her husband killed in Iraq. It was her father's shop she had explained one day to him as he was choosing between brands of fish food. Though he owned no fish. Weeks went by and slowly he built his confidence up.

He decided he would ask her to dinner. But had panicked and ended up somehow purchasing the four turtles from the table display in front of the store. She did not want to have them separated and so, to make her happy, he had purchased them all. He asked about dinner. She said yes. They were to have gone out twelve years ago. And though he hadn't thought of her in the span of over a dozen years, her name rose out from the mysterious depths of his memory, as if he'd only just heard it; cutting into the tender flesh of his lonely heart: Rebecca Brenner.

Tears suddenly formed at the corners of his eyes. For what was lost, for what was gained. For the years stolen by his loneliness, the years now given by his new children.

"Ah, now I see. Yes," he said thickly, clearing his throat.

The writing on the slips. Rebecca's careful lettering. She'd mentioned wanting to go to art school, once. Wanting to be a painter. He understood clearly with a bittersweet pang. "You're names. They are the shortened version of what was written here. Raph for Raphael, Mikey for Michelangelo, Leo for Leonardo and Donnie for Donatello." He looked up to see the boy watching him with interest. "They are fine names."

"I never told them. I-I thought that . . . he . . . wouldn't like it."

Splinter nodded again. Then inspiration struck. "Donatello," the boy's deep eyes snapped up at the use of his proper name, "I was wondering if you could assist your brothers with their lessons. They are having some trouble and I . . . I just don't know how to go about teaching them."

There was a flash of something like excitement and interest in the boy's eyes. But to Splinter's great disappointment, he saw it fade, leaving the gaze empty and blank, before dropping to the side.

"I couldn't," he whispered.

"Why is that?" Splinter asked, desperate to keep the fragile lines of this conversation going, to keep the connection that had formed between them with the discovery of the children's given names.

"I-I . . . I'm too stupid." Splinter blinked in surprise and hurt. "I-I'm useless," his bottom lip quivered as he breathed the last word.

So, the black rat hammered into this child that he was useless and stupid. Besides physically abusing him. The back of Splinter's neck bristled as his jaw clenched. His fist closed in around the slips of paper. The boiling rage rose up and nearly engulfed him.

"I do not believe that." He barely was able to keep his voice steady as he choked out the statement. Donnie shook his head in denial. "I don't believe you really think that."

When he got no response he decided to try something bold. He never brought up the events of the day he rescued them for fear of upsetting them. But he had to keep this connection with Donatello. He licked his bottom lip and plunged in, "And your friend? The girl who was with you?" Donnie's face snapped up. "I don't think she thought that of you, either."

Donnie gazed up at him, mouth open slightly in surprise. "A-April?" Donnie's eyes grew distant and the ghost of what could have been a smile spread across the child's face.

Splinter mentally did a back flip with joy. But the victorious sensation died a flaming death as Donatello's smile fell away before it actually came to exist. He shrugged and picked at the edge of the toolbox. "It doesn't matter."

Splinter pressed his lips together. Another idea hit him. With his joints creaking. He stood up.

"I would like to show you something." The boy's sharp look of suspicion hurt him, but he brushed it away, determined to not take it personally. "Please?"

Splinter's heart pounded as the seconds passed with Donnie not moving. When he finally climbed to his feet and moved to follow, Splinter's head was light with giddy excitement. He was making progress. Real progress!

Donnie followed Master Splinter out of the room and down the stairs. The living room remained in a wrecked state of chaos. Raph and Mikey jumped up; disentangling themselves. One was bleeding from a fat lip. Immediately, they resumed cleaning up the mess they had created. Splinter pointedly ignored their lapse in obedience as he moved across the room to the dojo. Donnie quietly moved like a shadow behind him. Mikey waved and Donnie shot him a soft smile.

Master Splinter slid open the door and moved inside. He strode across the room and stopped near the far wall. He turned, clasping his hands together in front of his body. Donnie kept his eyes lowered to the mats. Master Splinter cleared his throat. Donatello raised his eyes and slowly they grew to round circles and a gasp escaped from between his lips.

Behind Master Splinter was a built in bookcase. Five long shelves were stacked with books. Donnie stumbled forward before catching himself. His eyes darted from the books to Splinter and back again.

"Donatello, I understand you already know how to read. Am I correct?"

Donnie nodded numbly.

"Then, please. Anytime you wish for reading material. You may help yourself."

He could not help but smile at the expression on the boy's face.

Donnie shook his head. "N-No, I couldn't," he murmured even as his eyes roved over the stacks of books with a hungry look of a starving man that had just stumbled upon a Thanksgiving Day feast laid out for his enjoyment.

Splinter nonchalantly waved a hand; dismissing the boy's protest and moved around him to leave. Over his shoulder he said, "Of course you can. You have my express permission to read whatever you'd like. Anytime you wish."

He paused just outside the door and gave a quick glance over his shoulder to see the child reach up with a trembling hand and pull a book from one shelf. He dropped silently to the floor and opened it on his lap.

Splinter felt a rush of relief and joy that made him light-headed with a triumphant happiness he'd never experienced before.

* * *

Later that evening, still riding the victory of reaching Donatello and connecting with him. Splinter decided that he would bring up his idea to the eldest boy. Michelangelo and Raphael were laying on their stomachs on the large throw rug. They were playing at drawing mazes; passing the large pad of paper between each other; each one adding more layers, until the maze took up the entire page, then they took turns trying to solve it. Egging one another on with whispered insults and biting comments that left them both giggling gleefully.

Donatello was on the couch, curled up with a massive volume on the architectural history of New York City, lost to the world. He was immersed in it with an intensity and focus that both impressed and slightly intimidated Master Splinter. At his age, Splinter had been only interested in reading manga and watching anime with giant robots fighting gorilla aliens from space on television. The boy was not only intelligent. He was gifted. Of that, Splinter was sure. He would need to pay special attention to keep the boy engaged and challenged while teaching him.

Leonardo was sitting quietly in the kitchen. A sheet of paper was in front of him. Splinter glanced down. He was practicing writing his name and his brother's names in rigid, shaky lettering, over and over again.

"Very good, Leonardo." Splinter glanced up at the clock. "You do know that your lessons ended hours ago?"

Immediately, Leonardo set the pencil down. He flexed his hand as he dropped it onto his lap.

"I-I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize." He paused. "While the house is quiet, I was hoping to speak to you about something. Alone."

Leo rolled his gaze up to meet Master Splinter's eyes. "Okay," he said, his throat caught a little on the end of the word.

Splinter turned and indicated his room with one hand. Leo stiffened. "Please, I only wish to hear what you think of a proposal I have for you."

With rigid movements, Leo slid his chair back and stood up. A pool of unease swirled inside him, but he did his best to ignore it. Splinter moved towards his room with Leonardo following. His dark eyes bounced around the room to his brothers as he went. No one paid them any heed, so wrapped up in their own endeavors that they didn't even notice he was following the rat . . . alone . . . into his bedroom. His legs grew heavy as if he were walking through mud and he had to concentrate to push his feet forward, the closer they came to the door.

Leo felt his throat begin to tighten as his mouth grew dry. He moved inside the room and Splinter quietly closed the door shut behind him. He started to tremble and brought his arms up to hug himself, rubbing his upper arms lightly, trying to banish the gooseflesh that rose up on them. His heart pounded uncomfortably.

_He wouldn't hurt me. He said he'd never . . . not like that. He promised._

Candles flickered around the space. Their yellow and orange flames danced and jumped. Shadows writhed along the walls and shelves. Though he didn't want to look, Leonardo's eyes fell upon the neatly made cot at one end of the room as well as the large cushions set on the floor next to the bed.

Master Splinter moved around him and knelt down on one of the oversized cushions. He adjusted his belt on his robe and grunted as he rubbed his knees.

"Please, sit down, Leonardo," Splinter said indicating a flatter cushion in front of him and Leo thought he heard a sinister tone in the command.

Leo remained where he was.

He was a fool to ever think he was safe. He started to shake.  _Oh no. Please no._  

He considered running from the room at that instant. His stomach sank into his knees. No, he couldn't flee. If he ran, Sensei would turn to one of his brothers, he was sure of it. It was the reason he didn't run away from home. He thought of taking his brothers and making a break for it. His mind raced, trying to think where they could hide. No. There was no where he could go. Nowhere safe. The humans had taken his dad away. If they were caught . . . he remembered what Scrag had told him. The nightmares that he'd had of Mikey or Raph or Donnie being found and taken. And now they had Scrag and they were probably taking him apart.

A mix of emotions ran through Leonardo and he felt faint and sick all at once.

He turned his attention back to the mat and the gray rat waiting patiently for him to come closer with a bemused expression on his face.

Oh, he knew this was coming. Despite what Sensei had said to him. Despite the continued promises of meaning him and his brothers no harm. This was why he'd taken them. Leonardo always suspected the motivation behind their kidnapping had something to do with this. He just knew it.

Somehow he always knew.

With stiff movements, Leonardo managed to approach the mat and kneel before him. He pinched his shaking hands between his knees to make them stay still.  _But why now?_  

Then it hit him with a sinking realization. Splinter had just given him time. Time to become whole again. He didn't want him when he was broken and raw. Leonardo swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling sick. He should be grateful for that, at least. Maybe Sensei wouldn't hurt him as much as Scrag did. Maybe he didn't like it when he was in pain, like his dad had.

He couldn't be afraid, though. He had to face the facts of the situation. If not him, then it would be one of his little brothers here in his place. And as much as he wanted to be spared from this fate, he would never trade places with one of them.  _Never._  He just had to be brave again. Braver than he'd ever been before. He could not let this happen to any of his brothers. He  _would_  not let this happen to them. No matter what the rat wanted to do to him, the most important thing was he had to convince Sensei that he alone would be enough. He needed to prove that he could satisfy all his needs and convince Splinter to leave his brothers alone. He would have to show him that he could take it. And he could take a lot when he had to. He had been trained for nearly three years for this at the cruel hands of his father.

Besides, no matter how hard he struggled and tried: at writing, at learning to read - this was all he was really good for.

Fighting back the terror and digging deeply for the elusive courage hidden away at the bottom of his soul, he opened his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he fell to his hands and knees. He crawled forward, eyes downcast.

Splinter had just begun to speak and immediately fell silent. He stiffened and shook his head uncomprehendingly as Leo inched forward.

With his head ducked between his hunched shoulders, Leonardo lifted his hands up between Splinter's legs and gingerly began to untie the belt around his waist. Splinter's hands shot out and gripped Leonardo tightly by his wrists. The boy cringed back, eyes clamped shut and mouth open in a silent cry of pain.

He made a startled, choking noise through his nose, "Leo-, what are you . . ."

"I'm sorry! I-I thought . . ."

Splinter abruptly dropped his hold on the boy's wrists. He was at a loss for words. His mind scattered.  _What is this? What does he think?_  He couldn't mean to believe that he'd been brought into the room to . . . to . . . Splinter couldn't even finish the awful thought.

With a look of unimaginable pain, Leonardo curled in on himself and slowly turned around. He lowered his face to the cool floor, gripping the edge of the mat in both his fists. His bottom raised towards Splinter. He stayed that way trembling furiously for a second before Splinter, in horror, watched the small, crooked tail uncurl and slid to one side, exposing himself fully to him.

"I . . . I'll be good . . ." the boy said the words breathlessly, remembering the vow that Scrag had him repeat before being taken. A nearly inaudible whimper of fright squeezed free.

Splinter lurched back and away as if a coiled viper lay in front of him. Horrified, disgusted, he turned his face away as he leaped to his feet.

"Leonardo! Stop this at  _once_. Get up." Agitated, Splinter paced in a circle. He ran a hand over his face. When Leonardo didn't move he snarled at him, "I said  _get up_!"

Leo rolled to his bottom. One arm posed over his chest as if to block a blow. Chest heaving, he blurted, "I-I'm sorry! I-I don't know what to . . . what you want."

Splinter spun, his eyes flashing. "I have told you, boy. I do not  _want_  . . . I would  _never_  . . . how many times must I . . . GAH!"

Leo flinched and Splinter saw the tears standing out in his deep eyes full of confusion and fear and hurt. He threw his hands in the air and continued to pace. Frustration and embarrassment warred within him, he knew he was not being calm. He was the complete opposite of calm right now. He was letting his emotions carry him and most likely was terrifying the child.

He ran a shaking hand over his face and rolled it up over his head until he rubbed the back of his neck. He took in a deep breath. Then another. It was not the boy's fault. His fears were justified. He gave them no reason to think he'd want them for such nefarious purposes, but he must not take this personally.

"Leonardo," he began again. "Son, I swear to you, I will never,  _ever_  ask you . . . or your brothers . . . for any kind of . . . I would never make you do anything . . ."

This was impossible. He gave up. Shoulders slumping, he moved and sat on the edge of his cot. He raised mournful eyes up at Leonardo who was watching him while breathing fast and shallow, no doubt, fighting those tears that were building and giving his blue eyes a wild, glassy look.

"I only wished to ask if you think you would be interested in learning martial arts." Leonardo froze and blinked hard, once. "I would like to offer to teach you and your brothers."

Leonardo brought his arms down. His eyes dropped as his face flushed a dark red as humiliation swept over his features. He looked as if he were about to vomit. Splinter felt horrible for making the boy go through this, but he had no idea the child would have misinterpreted his motivations so horrendously.

Choosing to ignore the awkwardness, much as he handled Donatello, Splinter plunged forward, pretending that what had just taken place had not actually happened at all. He cleared his throat. "I believe it would be beneficial for you and your brothers. Practicing martial arts brings discipline and balance. It brings peace and harmony between your mind and body. I would be honored if you grant me permission to truly be your sensei. Your teacher."

Face still a brilliant crimson, Leonardo raised his chin. His voice betrayed the emotions sweeping through him as his breath caught. But he managed to croak a reply, "Yes." He cleared his throat and said, "I would like that. Please."

Splinter released a breath and smiled as he did. "Very good. We shall begin tomorrow morning."

Leonardo stood up. He stayed for a moment, uncertain and off balance, slightly curled hands posed in front of his chest, finally he turned to leave.

Splinter spoke up, "My son." Leo stopped; turned.

"It will get better. I can't promise that it will happen soon . . . or that it will be easy . . . but know this: I will be here to help you in any way you need." He paused, "You are a very courageous young man." Leonardo blinked at the compliment, looking unsure. "I will say what needs not be spoken, but you set a fine example for your brothers. You have a fierce determination in your heart and are a natural leader. You will rise to accomplish great things. I know this as I know my own heart."

Leonardo stared at him for a moment, then standing a little straighter, he said, voice thick with emotion, "Thank you, Sensei," and quietly left the room, mind racing along with his heart.

Master Splinter watched him go. He sighed deeply.

The road ahead was full of obstacles and set-backs, but he knew that they could face each challenge and triumph; if they supported each other and learned to trust, not only in one another, but in him as well. Maybe one day, that trust would turn to something even deeper. Perhaps one day, the children might come to love him as he already loved them.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Epilogue is next!
> 
> A HUMONGOUS THANK YOU goes out to all of my readers who took the time to leave me a review. Large or small, all of them are cherished and appreciated! Some I read and reread and how can I even tell you? You make me brave. You help me believe. You really want quality, you want to be entertained with fleshed out characters and roller coaster plot lines . . . so you push me to be better. I am constantly learning and only want to continue to write at the level you demand and deserve. I love you guys.
> 
> Oh yeah, and! it helps me when that evil little voice of self-doubt starts whispering in my head that I suck =P you know that voice. DIE VOICE, DIE! XD okay, too much coffee this morning, I think.
> 
> I will have the epilogue up in a day or so . . . with a surprise and a little something else in the A/N...you'll see! mwhahahah


	22. Epilogue – Triumphus Malum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Brace Yourselves . . . I just finished this and HAD to post. Please remember . . . it's only a story ;'D

 

 

The lights were never switched off. Never dimmed. Always blinding.

The pain in his unseeing eye throbbed and pulsed along with his erratic heartbeat. The wound the turtle gave him to his hand and his eye were repaired, only so that the Not Men could examine it in their own way, with their own piercing tools. His shattered tail was ignored to swell and fester and itch and ache.

The cage they kept him in was too small for his limbs to stretch out in anything resembling comfort, so he crouched, huddled and bent. Day after day. Hour after hour. Counting the minutes between the sessions of his torment. Freed for the experiments before being brought back here and imprisoned once again. He knew he had to escape but haste would get him killed. No, he had to be cautious. Haste was not going to get him free. So he plotted and planned. Biding his time.

His fingers absentmindedly roved up and down the vivisection scar that ran the length of him. Petting it and fighting against the terrifying memory of the ordeal he fought the tears that built. They had taken him and strapped him down and cut him. Like he was meat. Only meat on a slab.

They had murmured in their strange repeating voices in the high-timbered tones as they prodded and dug within the confines of his physical body. Stretching his skin and putting him all back together once they had discovered whatever it was they were looking for during that procedure.

It took everything he had to cling to the threads of sanity. He ever focused on two things and only those things were what got him through: his  _escape_  and his  _revenge_. With that in mind he formed a plan. A clever plan. It took everything he had to stay clever despite the distraction of the pain that lanced through his body. But he  _was_  clever. Always clever. Even from before. When he was a lowly creature scavenging through the alleys that made up the wasteland of human gluttony and shallow whims. The kingdom of hollow despair.

He heard the latch and the metallic sound of the door swishing open to the lab where they kept him. Oh yes, he was clever. Counting the steps to and from the rooms, making note of the guards and the shifts of scientists that came and went. The woman's perfume floated in the air, that and her causal, non-interested emotions swept over to Scrag before her shadow even reached him.

He knew this one. Had been waiting for her. This human woman, with the soft hands and the indifferent attitude. Her shadow fell over him as she pressed the code into the key pad.

He'd never struggled. He'd never fought. He laid limply in their arms as soon as they brought him here. Ever compliant to their needles and burning injections. Ever humble and silent. Because Scrag knew that he must escape. He had to make them at ease around him. He was no threat to anyone. He was harmless. For if they didn't believe - death lay waiting for him between the white walls and the silver cold tables.

Ah, but he was clever. And they _did_ believe his ruse. He wouldn't hurt anyone. Not a living thing.

The cage door opened.

And now it was time to be quick.

* * *

The alarms were blaring as he raced through the halls. His shattered tail sending waves of bright agony up through his spine as he ran. He'd have chewed it off by now, only the cage they'd kept him in didn't allow enough room for him to spin around and reach the fleshy, swollen appendage. And there was no time for that now.

His feet slid across the polished floor, coating it in his bloody tracks. He licked his lips, still tasting the woman's salty, hot blood as it ran down his throat as he bit and tore at her. Her flesh was devoured in haste and his stomach nearly rejected what he'd engorged on. But he fought against the urge to vomit and so far had won that battle. He needed the strength her meat brought.

He turned and barreled through a door. A man in a white lab coat with a squared-off hood spun from where he stood. Large yellow gloves adorned his hands. He held a canister with a heavy-duty metal clamp.

Scrag wasted not a moment. He hissed at the human and leaped at his face. The contents of the canister flew in the air and rained down on him in thick fat drops. In two quick movements, his claws tore through the fabric of the man's protective suit. Two more slashes and Scrag buried his face into the exposed organs. Taking his fill, choking it down, relishing the coppery rich flavors. He rolled away from the body as he heard footsteps stampeding down the hallway that he'd just escaped from.

His good eye scanned the room. As he raced across the expanse, he pulled a lab coat from a table. Throwing the garment on, he pushed through a set of double doors. He paused in the hallway; noting that this one was different from the others. This one had fewer lights, more crates and boxes lined the walls. He looked left and tuned his double senses to pick up any trace of humans or Not-Men, but there was only the distant thrum of traffic beyond.

And so he ran. He ran on all fours; leaving crimson prints marred with black gory bits of his victim's entrails as he exploded out the back receiving door of the lab. Never stopping to catch his breath or to look back, he headed for the darkened alley beyond. Dashing across the empty street, his lengthy shadow was the only thing following him.

The alarm blazed in the distance, fading as he ran. A sudden cramp went through him and he brushed it off. But it was soon followed by another and another; each one more powerful than the last.

At last, he crumbled and tumbled; rolling forward until his body hit a chain-linked fence. He looked up in the moonlight. Mountains of discarded, rusted vehicles blotted out the horizon. He needed shelter. He needed somewhere safe, he thought, as another bout of cramps coursed through him. Something was happening to him. Something painfully familiar. This was a deserted place. A place where he could hide until the pain went away.

Clawing his fingers through the openings of the fence, he climbed, ignoring the anguish his body was experiencing, until he flipped over the barbed-wire laced top; his fur catching and large bits gouged free as he fell in a heap. He writhed and coiled and rolled to the safety of the shadows. Foam and red-tinged spittle dribbled from between his gritted teeth as he gasped and panted through the rippling agony. The sound of bones snapping and popping filled the silence. He groaned and fell into the gravel and dirt; shivering and shuddering in pain. His aching muscles bunched and released in violent spasms.

He held a trembling hand up and watched in horror as another finger emerged through the flesh; making a squelching sound as the muscles tore and reformed. The fur peeled away from his body, leaving his hand exposed and pale in the blue light of the moon. He doubled up in pain and his stomach lurched; emptying its contents in an agonizing eruption of gore. He rolled to the side as his body bucked and rumbled, creaked and snapped. With a sickening thud, his swollen, tail detached from his bottom. It coiled and undulated and quivered with a mind of its own before finally laying still.

And then, like a raging storm now spent and subdued, it was over.

He lay, shivering and trembling; panting from terror and exertion. The ringing of his ears eased and a new sound reached him. The sound of a hundred thousand voices. Tiny voices coming from the thoughts of tiny creatures. Some were closer than others. Some were brighter than others. Some were repeating over and over mindlessly, but others were clever and curious.

Scrag rolled his teary eyes up and blinked. Red dots peered down at him from every shadowy swath of darkness.

"Wh-Who's there," he asked, his voice hoarse and wavering.

The chattering cacophony fell silent at once; leaving only the sound of his heart beat hammering in his ears and the distance roar of traffic. Unnerved, Scrag raised up onto his elbows. Even as he asked, he gazed in amazement and wonder at his hands, his human-like hands; long black claws curved out from the end of each digit. So not entirely human. But closer than what he had been.

He felt the eyes bearing down on him. Felt the presence of something large and ominous. One being through many. One consciousness formed from thousands of individual minds.

"Wh-What do you want?"

The voice came as one, into his mind, flooding his senses, _"To serve you, oh, great one."_

Scrag's eyes glittered in the dark as he felt it. Their subservience. Their loyalty. Their adoration.

A smile slid slowly across his face, revealing a pair of long dagger like incisors at the corners of his mouth. He was no longer Scrag, the scraggly lab rat, meant only for torture at the hands of the Not Men and their pathetic human servants. He had shed that persona as he shed away the fur and the length of his broken useless tail.

No, he was something much more than that now, thanks to the mysterious fluid that spilled over him when he attacked that man in the lab just before his escape. His mind scattered at the implications, but one sweet thought stood out.

 _Revenge_.

He unsteadily climbed to his feet and the scores of rats poured from every crevice that surrounded him.

He raised his arms up over his head. His throaty laughter boomed throughout the junk yard.

"Yes. You  _will_  serve me! You  _will!_ For your  **KING**  has come!"

. . .

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *Triumphus Malum = Triumph of Evil in Latin
> 
> Now run and play Hells Bells by Cary Ann Hearst - mwhahaha (a little different, I know, but creepy as hell!)
> 
> Oh, Jaddis and RedWritingRebel! THANK YOU! You guys have given me the GREATEST idea ever. Scrag as the previous identity of THE RAT KING! And thank you to everyone who came along with me on this journey. I hope you enjoyed the ride.
> 
> So yeah! Hang on to your butts! I've got something brewing in the back of my mind that is slowly taking shape. I just have to be sure I, myself, am ready! EEP! See how your reviews help me so much! So, please keep them coming, not only do they make me feel so loved and appreciated, but sometimes they spawn Wonderfully Wicked plot bunnies!
> 
> Please brace yourselves for part 2 of What Makes a Father: In the Kingdom of Despair  
> (One day soon I will begin part 2 - for now, please enjoy my other work and don't forget to leave a review/comment - I appreciate them so much!!)


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